


Spurs

by orphan_account



Category: True Grit (2010)
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Romance, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-09
Updated: 2011-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 26,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A divergence story from True Grit, 2010.  Told from the Texas Ranger's perspective, here is the story of how he met Mattie Ross, helped her chase down Chaney, and what happened in their lives therafter.  Eventually Mattie/LaBoeuf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One: In Which LaBoeuf Encounters a Difficult Girl

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“She is fourteen, and there all alone,” Mrs. Ross sighed, her presence a faint one in the room, consumed in mourning.  Black bombazine enveloped her, rending her nigh on invisible, even in the bright light of an afternoon.  “She has been in contact with our lawyer already, Mr. Dagget informs me, and he fears she is determined to do something rash.”

 

I cleared my throat.  “Rash, Mrs. Ross? Pardon me, but she is only a little girl.”  

 

I heard a snort by the door and turned, my hand on my still-holstered revolver, to see who it was.  A negro with a clean-shaven face and lines that bespoke laughter leaned lightly against the frame of the door.  “That one?  My apologies, Mizz Ross, Mister Ranger – I saw you flash that badge of yours when you got here – but Miss Mattie ain’t been a little girl since she was in her cradle.”  He crossed his arms with all the casual comfortableness of a resident of the house. I concluded that he was a hired hand of long and good standing. “She shooed me off, she did, Ranger.  Sent me and the body of her father on the train and agreed to sleep in the undertaker’s.  Imagine that.”

 

Everything that I knew of propriety rebelled and stiffened to hear that. That a little girl would tell her elder, her guardian on an errand, to leave her behind?  Absurd. Ridiculous.  

 

I dwelt on that aspect of young Mattie Ross’s character as I road from Yell County, Arkansas to Fort Smith. After making inquiries, I discovered the young woman who was on the trail of Tom Cheney – the entire town had heard of her business – had spoken to Marshall Rooster Cogburn and was boarding at the only respectable house in the tiny town.  

 

Cogburn. A one-eyed drunkard who could barely sit upright on his horse.  I had heard of him.  Surely, once I had had the chance to speak with the girl, she would give me the information she had and I could pursue Chaney and bring him back to the Governor for prosecution.  

 

The reward would not hurt my feelings, either.

 

Mrs. Floyd’s Boarding House was a respectable establishment. I made it my business to charm her out of her only free room and asked after her youngest guest.  “Oh, she’s out tending to her horse, I daresay.”

 

“Thank you, ma’am. I will wait for her on your fine porch, if that would be all right.”

 

She pursed her lips but told me I was welcome to wait.  

 

I had thought to get a feel for the girl before we conversed.  When I saw the young lady walking so uprightly down the center of Main Street, her hair in two rigid braids, steps sure and forthright, I knew this was my quarry.  Mattie Ross.  She saw me; I knew she did, for her dark eyes met mine without pause.  Still, she did not speak to me, so I waited until later, figuring to catch her after her dinner.

 

This did not happen. Instead, I caught her in bed.

 

Assuring Mrs. Floyd that a young girl had nothing to fear from a Texas Ranger, I insinuated myself into the room Mattie Ross had been sharing.  Same stick-straight braids, laying in order on either side of her face.  Straight brows.  Impertinent nose, and a quilt pulled up almost to her shoulders.  

 

She sniffled in her sleep and I felt my face relax into a smile as I settled more easily back into the rocking chair the room afforded.  Some trick of the morning light hit her expression and her lips curved – perhaps at some happy dream.  And I realized uncomfortably that when she smiled, she was rather pretty.  Her mouth should smile, I decided, especially that upper lip...  

 

 _I could kiss that pair of lips and be blissfully content_ , my thoughts told me.  My thoughts were ridiculous.  _Kiss Mattie Ross?_ She was fourteen years old!  What she needed, I reminded myself, was a good spanking for sending her guardian away.

 

Uncomfortable in my mind and body for a moment, I made to shift in the chair. The movement or the noise I made awoke the girl and her eyes blinked as she started awake.

 

“Who are you?”

 

“William LaBoeuf, Texas Ranger,” I told her as we got introductions out of the way. The girl had a tongue on her –  a sharp one.  Dared to tell me, her elder by fifteen years, that being kissed by me would be equally as unpleasant and unwelcome as the whipping I felt she would best benefit through receiving.  She also refused my aid, clinging to her ideal of hiring a U.S. Marshal over a Texas Ranger.  

 

Well, she was a foolish girl, make no mistake, but I left her there in her bed, unmolested.  I then went to track down Marshal Cogburn.  Little did I realize at that time what an impact these two people would make on the life of a Texas Ranger.

  
  
  



	2. In Which the Ranger and the Marshal Discuss the Girl

**Chapter Two: In Which The Ranger and the Marshal Discuss the Girl**

 

He was drunk, as I had known he would be, and I decided I did not have to be nearly as polite with him as I did with young Miss Ross.  “Marshal!  I hear tell you are going after my rightful quarry.  I would like,” I continued as he glared with a baleful eye, “to propose a working arrangement with you.”

 

Rooster Cogburn puffed out his chest like any cock of the walk.  “Without the girl, I take it?”

 

“Absolutely.  She is a child and has no business encountering the likes of the man she calls Chaney.”  I rolled up on my toes as we stood at the bar of Sal’s Saloon there in Fort Smith.  Not a tawdry establishment, I was relieved to note.  Stale smoke and whiskey were the predominant odors to hit my nose, but those smells were common enough in my travels.  I twitched my lips and blew out a breath through my nostrils.  Such foul smells tended to linger on my mustache, but I told myself to ignore it.  “When did you plan on leaving?”

 

He snorted and lifted his shot glass.  “Before she does, that is for certain.  Little Sis has no business going to the Choctaw Nation.”

 

“I agree. I will meet with you then, and we can cross the river together.” I did not trust the man, though he was a U.S. Marshal.  “I am a fair shot,” I added modestly, “and have a good eye for tracking.”  Then, though it cost me in pride, I went on to say that I felt his greater years of experience would make us a good working partnership while we hunted our man.

 

Cogburn threw back his shot. I could imagine the burn it made down his throat by the gleam in his eye. “I have experience, young Ranger,” he slurred at me, practically growling in his ire. “And I know the Ned Pepper Gang.”

 

“I know Chaney.  We should work together. It is perhaps providential that young Mattie Ross has accidentally introduced us.”

 

“Hm.”  He beckoned to the barkeep with a lazy curling of his fingers. “Another shot for me and one for the Ranger, here.”

 

“Marshal, I –”

 

“I will not trust a man who will not drink with me.”

 

I shrugged my shoulders.  “Well, then.  I will drink.  And thank you, Marshal Cogburn.”

 

“Hm.”  We did not look at one another as we drank the whiskey, but I knew that it was important anyway.  He was right – men do work more easily together if they have shared a drink. 

 

I awoke before dawn, none the worse for wear after a little liquor and a lumpy mattress. Sleeping in a reputable boarding house was far superior to many places I have had to take my rest while on the trail of a villainous fellow and I was thankful to have had it.  I did not have to drink from the ground, but instead was able to pour water into a glass like a civilized man before shaving and endeavoring to tame the hair that Miss Mattie Ross had so denigrated the day before.

 

The girl had a negative opinion about everything.

 

I made sure to look in on her before I left the boarding house.  Cogburn did not wish to travel with her – something upon which he and I agreed wholeheartedly. I was not paid to mind children.  Cogburn had been hired by her, but I had not.  There she was, alone in her bed, looking as innocently determined in sleep as she did awake.  Strange girl, she was. Direct.  More as if she ran her father’s farm than was his daughter.

 

It was a thought I would return to later. Much later. That morning, my purpose was to leave town and reach the Territories with Cogburn before young Mattie Ross awakened.   

 

We met up, Cogburn and I, on the edge of town, near the last wall on the last building on the main street.  He looked as if he had not slept all night – I did not choose to speculate upon what he might have been doing instead.  

 

“You look as if you had passed a good night,” he growled, shifting in his saddle so that his horse came around to stand restlessly next to mine. The sun was just rising above the horizon and our shadows were long.  “I hope you are ready to make good time.”

 

“I am.”  With the lightest touch of my heels – I liked my spurs and wore them with pride, but I always took care to treat my mount well – I moved forward, my mind moving quickly over everything I knew about the man who had killed the father of Mattie Ross as well as the Governor.  He was known to be ruthless in his dealings with men, but had also been known to have had a female in his hand and to have let her go without bringing her to harm in any way.  Quick with a gun, he was not skilled with it, according to reports.  

 

“Well,” the U.S. Marshal said in his harrumphing manner, “we probably should trot along  a bit, LaBoeuf.  I’d like to be in the Territories, over the River, before Little Sis shows up.”

 

“Little Sis?”

 

There was a snuffled snort.  “She reminded me of my sister when she rolled my tobacco the other day.”

 

I rolled my eyes and brought my horse to a trot.  Truly, we were loaded lightly, the Marshal and myself. I thought our time would be adequate, even knowing how persistent that stubborn girl could be.  Without much conversation at all, Cogburn and I reached the river, where a ferryman looked relieved to have something to do.

 

“Jake!” 

 

“Marshal Cogburn!  You headed out again, sir?”

 

“I am, and so is this Texas Ranger with me,” Cogburn informed the skinny fellow on the ground.  He managed to make the title of Ranger a slur, but I let it pass for the moment – the sun was not getting any lower in the sky by any means.  “It is highly likely,” Cogburn went on, “that a girl will be following. She is a runaway from Yell County. I have not got time to escort her home, so when she appears –”

 

“And she will,” I interrupted, turning to scan the trail we had already ridden –

 

“Prevent her from crossing the River. Do not allow her to ride the ferry.  Her mother is waiting at home and she is supposed to be returning there.”

 

“Yes sir, Marshal Cogburn!  You can count on me.”

 

“Good.” A coin flew through the air, the growing light of morning glinting off of its surface.  “You just get her back to the Sheriff’s Office, Jake.  I will have another for you if I find you have done so.”

 

Jake provided a reliable, quick transport across the River and had called his farewell when I had to look again to make sure he did not have a horse.  For I heard one.

 

He did not, but I had indeed heard a horse’s hoofbeats.  Loud and stubborn, too.  Just like the girl on the horse.

 

I will not repeat what the U.S. Marshal swore under his breath at the sight of the braids under the wide-brimmed hat, but I guarantee it would have earned him a reprimand from his employer.

 

**_(to be continued, never fear!)_ **

**_  
_ **


	3. In Which There is a Switch and a Gun and a Campfire

**Chapter Three:  In Which There is a Switch and a Gun and a Campfire**

 

“Look, Jake is taking her away, just as I told him.” Cogburn grunted with approval.  

 

I could hear Mattie Ross’s protests – loud and firm they were over the soft sounds of the River – but was prepared to turn around and ride, fairly confident that Jake would be eager to earn another coin for taking the girl back into town.

 

My confidence was misplaced.  

 

With courage I had not seen in a female before, Mattie Ross urged her mount into the water, compelling the horse to swim all the way to us.  Within me rose conflicting feelings.  Irritation that grew quickly into anger tightened my muscles.  But at the same time, there was acknowledgment of her bravery and the realization that if she had been a boy, I would have been the first one there to help horse and rider get safely ashore.

 

I could not move to help Miss Ross, however.  I was offended at her refusal to obey her elders and – I did not then know what else it was that pestered my insides about the girl.

 

Still I remained mostly taciturn while she argued with the U.S. Marshal. Until, that was, she pointed out to him his error in spelling.

 

“ And ‘futile,’ Marshal Cogburn, ‘pursuit would be futile?’ It's not spelled "f-u-d-e-l." 

 

And when she said that, something within myself just snapped. I felt compelled to teach this chit of a girl a lesson.  A lesson in respecting her elders to put her in her place was long overdue.  I was off of my mount and approached her soggy form and dripping horse with tension gripping me all over, as if it were an otherworldly hand.  

 

Still, I cannot quite remember what I said to Mattie Ross, so engulfed was I in what felt like a righteous wrath.  Something about teaching her that lesson, I suppose.  I had her off her horse and over my knee to spank that little girl on her backside. Due to the heavy fabric of her duster and the unmaidenly trousers she had chosen to wear (trousers that were far too large for her and part of what outraged me was that she was wearing a man’s clothing – who would have given it to her? Why was she wearing it?) I do not think she felt a thing.  Her cries were not filled with pain or shame at all; she sounded angry as a spitting cat.  

 

So I went for a switch. So weighted down was she that she was unable to escape as I grabbed a loose, lean switch to drive home a lesson on manners.

 

I was further incensed when, instead of crying, she called out, “Are you going to let him do this, Marshal?”

 

I only then remembered Cogburn was there.  There and sitting on his horse and watching the show.  Lazy fellow. Lazy and without a bone of honor in is body.  My own honor came back to me at Mattie Ross’s appeal to the Law as poorly personified as it was in Cogburn’s one-eyed gaze.

 

“No. I don’t believe I will. Put your switch away, LaBoeuf.”

 

I walloped her well-protected backside again. I do believe she even felt it.  “I am to finish what I started!” 

 

“It’ll be the biggest mistake you ever made, you Texas brush-propper,” the Marshal said, his tone strangely laconic when contrasted with the click of his weapon.

 

Well, faced with that, my anger cooled and I was myself abashed as Mattie Ross got to her feet, brushed herself off and scowled at me.  With a grimace, she resettled an oversized hat on her head. I caught a glimpse of newsprint inside before she did so, and I realized that the hat was not hers, either.  

 

It might have been her father’s.  Regret sliced through my middle, thinking that I had been so incensed with this young woman who had been so recently bereft of her father.  I had to remember her circumstances and make allowances.  

 

No longer did I see her as a girl, no matter what I might have said to the contrary.  From the moment her eyes met mine after my ill-judged attempt at teaching her a lesson, Miss Ross was a young woman in my understanding of her.  A brave girl who was doing the best she could to make things right.  She went about it with the single-mindedness of a child at times, and with poorly-judged assessments, but she did her best.

 

And I silently honored her for it as we remounted our horses and continued on with barely any conversation. It was as if Cogburn and I had been waiting for her, there on the bank of the river, strange as it may have seemed.  We were waiting and, once we got our initial volatile greetings out of the way, we continued on as a unit. As if this were the way it was supposed to be.

 

=\=

 

“Why are you shaking your head so vehemently?” Mattie Ross inquired of me as she smoothed out her bedroll.  

 

“I do not like this situation. We are too exposed, here.”  

 

To give credit to her good sense, the young woman seemed inclined to listen to my discussion of campfire safety, but that ornery U.S. Marshal was determined to undermine me at every step.  At times throughout that day and further, I would ponder in my mind which of the two of them was in fact more contrary:  Cogburn or Ross.

 

Finally, I had had it.  Clutching my pipe securely and making sure I did not mischoose my words in front of a lady – however young she was – I said, “ You are getting ready to show your ignorance now, Cogburn. I don't mind a little personal chaffing but I won't hear anything against the Ranger troop from a man like you.”

 

Cogburn was not a gentleman and his next words proved it.  “How long have you boys been mounted on sheep down there?”

 

I blushed on Mattie Ross’s behalf, but a quick glance in her direction indicated that she likely did not understand the puerile implications of Cogburn’s disgusting question. I ignored those implications completely in my response.  “My Appaloosa will be galloping when that big American stud of yours is winded and collapsed. Now make another joke about it. You are only trying to put on a show for this girl Mattie with what you must think is a keen tongue.” Of course, I put in a few puerile overtones in my comeback, but Mattie did not appear to comprehend them, either, so I did not feel I had disgraced myself or the reputation of the Texas Rangers in my reproof.

 

The Marshal tried to play it off as if there were no consequences. “This is like women talking.”

 

“Yes, that is the way! Make me out foolish in this girl's eyes.”

 

He eyed me with that one eye of his narrowing in the firelight.  “I think she has got you pretty well figured.”

 

We both turned to study Mattie Ross.  Her face was devoid of guile as she met our looks squarely.  “Anyone want to tell a story?”

 

So much for concerning myself about her unsullied ears.


	4. In Which LaBoeuf Hunts Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Things will be slightly AU from the 2010 movie (which is my source material), due to my intent to work to the eventual romance. I will try not to alter things too much, however.

**  
**

I was well used to sleeping on the hard ground.  I passed the night peaceably, remaining awake while Cogburn slept and then getting my rest in my turn, as was right. Never would that Marshal be able to say anything about a Texas Ranger not pulling his weight on a manhunt.  Rising, I listened for the sound of running water so I could clean myself and answer the calls of Nature.  

 

But first, I assembled my gear. I would not leave my personal items out where that Marshal could do Lord alone knew what to them. 

 

“I am going to take care of business,” Marshal Cogburn informed me. “You watch over Lil Sis, there.’

 

I checked on Miss Ross as I knelt to secure my sleeping roll.  Her braids had come somewhat loose during the night and she was frowning in her sleep.  Still, she had not complained a jot and I wondered if she had done a lot of sleeping on the ground in her short life.  “She is doing fine, Marshal,” I said quietly.

 

“Of course.  She _has_ been camping!” At that, he laughed at some private joke, his breath coming in gasps after a few moments.  Mattie Ross slept on, oblivious.  “So we will go find Chaney and she can pay me the rest of what she owes me.”

 

“What about my reward?” I protested, scooping up my bedroll and stepping to my horse. I tried to keep my spurs quiet, out of deference to the young lady.  “I get a serious amount of money in Texas when I bring him back.”

 

Cogburn spit into the dry earth and looked around, scratching at the back of his neck.  The sun was rising by the moment, though, and I really did not want to take half the day to make him see things my way.  While I settled the saddle blanket on my Appaloosa and got him squared away, the Marshal and I discussed an arrangement.  

 

He was hired by Mattie Ross to bring her father’s killer to justice.  Justice would, then, be served in Chaney’s execution. Which was also ordered by Texas.  “If you help me,” I offered with what I thought was a good helping of humility, “I will split the reward with you and you will come out the winner, by and large.”

 

“That seems a good deal.”

 

We shook hands on it before I mounted and headed to the river to see to the necessaries.  I remembered well Mattie Ross’s comment about my hair and did, in fact, try to tame the wildness of it before I returned to my temporary traveling companions.  But when I arrived, I heard her once again trying to dictate the course of our manhunt.

 

And Cogburn was all but allowing it, the fool. Now, I had developed respect for the young bereaved woman, but she did not have experience in these matters. Nevertheless, Cogburn was hemming and hawing and letting himself be hoo-rah’d by the girl.

 

“I do not believe you, Marshal,” I called out.  “It seems to me you’re letting yourself be hoo-rah’d by her again.”

 

“Hoo-rah’d?” 

 

“Yes, indeed.” I directed a look at Mattie Ross and shook my head even as I lifted my hat to her as I would to any young woman upon meeting.  “We had an arrangement,” I protested, leaning over the pommel of my horse.  “And here you go –”

 

“If you had any idea of how to conduct yourself and training in the Army,” the Marshal began and then...well, I am afraid we got side-tracked.  Between his pretended service and my rightful record, we got into something of a pissing contest, all under the dark, serious gaze of young Miss Ross. 

 

Next thing I knew, we had parted ways. 

=\=

 

I was more than familiar with the man Mattie Ross called Chaney.  To me, though, the man in the picture I had shown Miss Ross while she was in bed back in Fort Smith was known as _Chelmsford_.  Cogburn had done me a small service by indicating that it was believed Chelmsford was riding with the Ned Penny Gang. Following a group of men was far easier than tracking just one, so I was thankful for the information.

 

The trick in such a pursuit would be to get my man separated from the rest. I did not relish killing all of the Ned Penny Gang to achieve this goal, but I did not balk at it, either.  The men in this gang, from report, were all deserving of a hangman’s noose.  I kept my weapons loaded and my wits keen as I followed a small pack of horses, most carrying about the same amount of weight, through the rocky, sandy terrain.

 

I spotted them before a full day had passed.  Having seen Chelmsford/Cheney before, I had a fair idea of what he looked like from a distance and my fists clenched at my sides as I dismounted to better hide among the sagebrush. I tied up my horse and even went so far as to remove the spurs from my boots so as to make my approach quiet.

 

“Shut your mouth, Tom Chaney,” snapped one raspy voice into the smoke-laced darkness.  “I could not care less if your jaw aches.  We are not going to find a physician to see to it.  We are wanted men, have you forgotten?”

 

“But Ned...”

 

“No. We will go to the new place and meet with our friends and make arrangements for our next job.”  

 

Someone spat into the gang’s campfire and I heard a sizzle.  I wondered what kind of shape these outlaws were in.  It sounded to me as if Ned had them under tight control, so I would focus my attentions upon him – as soon as I could ascertain which of the men he was.  

 

I dared to go closer.  A heavy breeze blew over them, bringing to me the smell of mesquite smoke, over-brewed coffee and the nose-flaring scent of frightened, filthy male.  That was a stink I never forgot.  I had to slide my feet, almost soundlessly, to mimic a small animal. No mean feat for a man my size, I can tell you.

 

They traded insults and established a watch and settled in to snore like bears. I crept back to my mount and slept but little, I think, while I made sure they did not escape in the night.

 

The next day was long.  My mind admittedly wandered. I had left a young woman with that U.S. Marshal and, since I was the one on the trail of the scallywag she was trying to see punished for her father’s killing, I knew they were not on this same trail and so Cogburn must be leading her who knew where. And could he really protect a young woman like her?  My conscience began to pester me, make no mistake about that.  I left due to my pride, and I knew it. And due to the honor due to the Texas Rangers.

 

But what about the honor of an innocent girl?

 

I frowned into the air and kept tracking Chelmsford and the Ned Penny gang. All that long day, stopping only to grab the jerked beef in my saddlebags and to water my horse,  I trailed them.  It was dark when they sent out a scout ahead.  

 

I knew I had them and only wondered if I could get word back to Mattie Ross about the Chelmsford/Chaney.  So that she would know that justice would find him and it would be final.

 

Fate or Providence, however, had other plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating as I am driven to do so...


	5. In Which LaBoeuf Gets Shot and Bites His Tongue

My chance came after dark.  I spotted a smoke-trail curling into the clear night sky.  Ned Penny was very excited, if his voice was any indicator. 

 

“See? They’re there and waiting for us. We will join them and then it will be a hot meal for everyone.”

 

“And a doctor?” Chelmsford-Cheney said with half a moan in his voice.

 

I smirked all to myself as Ned Penny swore a blue streak at him. “No, you foolish man. But there will be whiskey. This much, I think I can promise you.”  

 

The men sounded content with that as they took off in awkward intervals toward the welcoming smoke of the cabin. It was my chance to separate Cheney from the herd, as it were, and I had experience in so doing.  Quickly, I darted out from a concealing rock, ready to lasso or shoot with a revolver in one hand and a rope in the other.  

 

A Texas Ranger is prepared for any contingency.

 

I was surprised when they halted and did a quick ride-around.  I considered that they saw something to make them skittish and immediately – erroneously, as events later showed me – concluded that someone else was in their cabin. I decided to go forth and seek the aid of the unknown quantity. If I could be indoors, I could surprise Ned Penny and his gang and perhaps get the drop on Chelmsford.  I tied my horse on some sage – nothing too tight; my Appaloosa was a smart mount and if she needed to ride off for her own safety, I would allow it.  

 

Softly, I stepped forward, my boots sliding only with slight noise on the sandy earth. “Hello?” I cocked my revolver – I am not a fool – and reached the door with my free hand extended.  Opening the door, I was going to go in, but something was making the back of my neck twitch and I realized that this could have been a trap. Not for me, of course – I was confident that Ned Penny had not seen me.  But for them, perhaps, or maybe even someone else.  The world was, after all, a dangerous place. 

 

I froze, hearing hoofbeats, and turned absolutely on my guard.  Then, I was startled by an entirely unexpected voice that both frightened me and – oddly enough – made me feel almost proud. 

 

“We have to warn him, Marshal!”  It was Miss Ross, her firm exclamation rebounding off different faces of rock.  Then, any pleasant associations were banished when the first of Ned Penny’s gang appeared and I saw starlight and moonlight bounce off the barrel of a rifle in the high boulders off to my right.

 

I had walked right into a damned trap and there was nothing under God I could do about it, so I just prayed I would make it out alive.

 

I waited for the riders, my memory reminding me that if Mattie were here, the drunken Marshal would be, too, so I might have someone on my side if it came to a gunfight.  Such as he was.

 

Four men on four horses, but none of them drew their guns.  That made me nervous.  Tense.  Every muscle in my body tightened as I endeavored to keep my eyes on all of them while they spread out.  An impossible feat, perhaps, but I did my best.  My heart was thudding loudly against my ribs but I made no overt moves – even when one of the men started drawing a rope through his fingers.

 

 _Oh, God,_ I prayed silently.  _Don’t let me die here. Please._  

 

I am not a man who considers himself overly dependent upon the Almighty, nor do I quote from Scriptures as some young ladies do – incessantly, I might add – but that does not mean I do not hold with Divine Providence.  And I very much hoped Providence would keep me alive that night.

 

“Well, hello,” Ned Penny said, his voice easy and edged with laughter.  “Where did you come from, Ranger?”

 

I stood tall, determined to meet this threat with a straight spine.  I said a prayer for Miss Mattie Ross while I drew in a breath to calm myself.  I hoped she would not be too adversely affected by the doings there that evening.  “Just out of the night,” I said slowly.

 

Then, everything went to Hell.  

 

A rifle has a certain sound when it is fired. The echo is different, the shot sounds unique, and I have prided myself on my keen ear in such matters.  When the bullet hit me high in the chest, knocking me over, I thought for sure that my prayers were being roundly denied. The pain was brutal, and I had a flash of a thought that it hadn’t been a rifle from Ned Penny’s Gang, either.  Marshal Rooster Cogburn, though, had a rifle and I knew in my gut it had been him who had shot me!

 

Pain flared, but I would have gone on and tried to get to Chelmsford. I would have, for I had a job to do and people who depended upon my ability to get it done.  But it was not to be.

 

I heard the whistling in the air a scant second before I felt the rope about my arms and body.  “Ha!” the gang member said in a triumphant sort of way.  Before the sound died off, I had been jerked to the ground.

 

I swore under my breath – I remembered there was a lady present, not too far away – and just then the gunfire started. A rifle cracked, horse hooves kicked the dirt up around my head and the man who had roped me started to haul me away. 

 

I opened my mouth, but it got shut again, quite hard, and I almost bit my damned tongue in half! The pain was horrible and blood filled my mouth.  I imagined I had bitten my tongue completely _off_ , so intense was the suffering.  Being dragged along, choking on my own blood and feeling as if a hot poker had been run through my body, I still tried to keep an awareness of the situation.  

 

The cacophony that surrounded me was not to be believed. Horses screaming in that way they have when they are scared.  Men shouting fit to wake the dead.  Gunfire that echoed and made it seem to my ears that there were fifty armed men in a circle about me as my captor tried to steal me away.  What he had in mind to do with me, I did not want to know.

 

Rooster Cogburn’s rifle fired again, and I imagined that gunfire had been directed at him and Miss Ross, but I couldn’t maneuver myself, bound as I was, to see if she was all right.  Plucky girl; she was probably cheering him on.  Ridiculous female.  Feisty, but ridiculous.

 

A sudden stillness descended on us in the darkness.  And I heard the Marshal’s voice, laconic as ever.  “Well, that didn’t pan out.”

 

Exhaustion temporarily overtook my limbs and all I could do was try to spit the blood from my mouth to keep from choking on it.  I heard boots and long, heavy steps followed by the quicker, lighter steps of the girl as they made their way to me.

 

I was nudged and rolled over with surprising gentleness, considering it had been a boot that did the work.  “You managed to put a kink in my rope, pardner.”

 

His rope? _His_ rope!?  I protested.  “I am severely injured!” I tried to say.  And it hurt as if someone had my tongue in a pair of blacksmith’s tongs, I have to say.  My words came out with a heavy lisp, so they were muddled and sounded like _I am theverely injure_.

 

I felt quite unmanned to be honest, as Mattie Ross stared down at me.  Always practical, she did not interfere as the club-fisted Marshal threatened to rip my tongue out the rest of the way.

 

Persnickety female.  She left me, an injured fellow, to inspect the corpses!

 

“None of these men are Cheney, Marshal,” she complained.

 

I knew that, but I couldn’t work my mouth around the words as the Marshal assisted me to my feet.  The two of them nattered on about snow and burials, but I hurt like nobody’s business and wanted only to get my wounds cleaned and to have a few shots of whatever liquor the Marshal had stowed away.

  


  



	6. In Which LaBoeuf Talks Law and Rides in Company

**Chapter Six:  In Which LaBoeuf Talks Law and Rides in Company**

 

Liquor, as most people are aware, is an excellent cleaning agent for wounds.  It is not bad at dulling pain, either.  

 

I enjoyed both benefits as I cleaned my Sharp’s carbine in the cabin previously occupied by Ned Pepper’s associates.  Marshal Cogburn used his own flask of spirits to handle whatever ailments of mind or body plagued him.  The fire in the hearth was quite bright for the small cabin, but it cast a shadow over most of Cogburn’s aging body, leaving me with a view of his booted feet. His vocal abilities – unlike my own – were unimpaired, however.

 

“Of course we have had legal training, you sheep-sleeping Ranger,” Cogburn slurred from the shadow.  

 

His continual denigration of the Texas Rangers was wearing thin, but I set my sore jaw against it.  The tensing of my muscles only made my wound – the damned wound Cogburn himself denied giving me! – ache further as I cleaned my weapon.  “So you say. So tell me, Marshal, how do you classify the murder of Mattie Ross’s father?”

 

He hemmed and hawed like the poser he was, and challenged me to do the classification, casting aspersions on my temporary speech impediment.  I do not choose, as I recollect this, to demonstrate the thickness of my tongue as it was then – I can only say that if you were to tie a cord around the middle of a man’s tongue and then compel him to drink and try to speak clearly, he would have sounded much as I did that evening in the cabin.

 

“As I understand it,” I told Cogburn as Miss Ross came in the cabin’s only door, bringing with her fresh air and the whiff of snow,  “Chaney—or Chelmsford, as he called himself in Texas—shot the Senator’s dog. When the Senator remonstrated, Chelmsford shot him as well.” I had Mattie Ross’s interested attention at that point and, I confess, had to show off a little.  She had denied me pride of place in continuing to place her trust in the U.S. Marshal at the beginning of our adventure, and I felt she had to be made to understand just how badly she had underestimated me – and overestimated him!  “You could argue,” I said to that end, “that the shooting of the dog was merely an instance of _malum prohibitum_ , but the shooting of a senator is indubitably an instance of _malum in se_.”

 

I did my best not to appear too self-satisfied as Cogburn rolled sloppily up to an almost-upright posture, an empty bottle dangling from his fingers.  “Malla men _what_?”

 

Suppressing a smile, I braced myself against another bout of speech but was forestalled by young Miss Ross. Her clear voice was entirely matter-of-fact as she attempted to educate the marshal. “ _Malum in se_. The distinction is between an act that is wrong in itself, and an act that is wrong only according to our laws and mores. It is Latin,” she concluded with a nod.

 

That young woman had no sentiment in her body, I was fairly certain, but she had a solid understanding.  

 

Rooster Cogburn, on the other hand, was nothing but a drunken bag of wind.  “I am struck that LeBoeuf is shot, trampled, and nearly severs his tongue and not only does not cease to talk but spills the banks of English.”

 

He swilled down more of his favorite liquid idiocy and fell back on the only bed in the cabin. To further display his entire lack of gentlemanly behavior, he never offered the comfort of the mattress to the only female in our party.  Mattie Ross and I sighed in mutual sympathy with one another before she moved to the fire to serve up some weak soup.  

 

“Hungry, Mr. LaBoeuf?” she asked in her chipper manner.  

 

I had not wished to acknowledge the gnawing in my belly – a Ranger can go for days without nourishment if he must – but her question was not condescending.  “I am.”

 

Without giving me room for argument, she proceeded to partially unman me by feeding me, like a child, spoon by spoon of broth with softened chunks of cornbread.  I felt I owed it to the honor of the Rangers to continue to clean the carbine while I accepted her aid. In truth, it would have been difficult to have managed the soup with my shoulder.  And, like a proper lady, she made no comment about the slight mess I made due to my mangled tongue.

 

Indeed, she smiled a little at me as I finished.  “Thank you,” I mumbled, trying to be clear, but feeling suddenly exhausted.  

 

“You are quite welcome. It is the very least I can do for you, Mr. LaBoeuf.”

 

It was in my mind to ask her to call me by my given name, William, in that hour.  We seemed to have gone beyond the bonds of “Mister” and “Miss” by that point.  Especially when she made me up a padded area upon which to sleep, using a fur that had been rolled and left for trade in the corner of the cabin.  

 

But, I did not.  

 

**=\=**

 

With her hair in its customary rigid braids, Mattie Ross rode behind me the next day. We traveled single file, the three of us, with Cogburn in the lead. I did not trust him to ride  the rear.  His drunken attempts at singing were enough to have Miss Ross and I exchanging laughing looks mile after mile.  I had never felt quite so in harmony with her and again the notion occurred to me to eschew the formality of our current speech, but with Cogburn’s presence, it did not seem wholly proper either. Especially as he seemed out to impress his young employer.

 

“Fort Smith is a healthy distance, LaBoeuf, but I would encourage the creature you ride to try to make it in a day.  Out here, a one-armed man is easy prey.”

 

The nerve of the man!  Fury and a desire to supplant him as primary leader of our manhunt, had me urging my horse on a bit.  “And a one-eyed man who can’t shoot?” I shot back as well as I was able with my mangled mouth.  With a quick look back at Mattie Ross, I tried to gauge her reaction to Cogburn’s challenge.

 

Her mien impassive, she seemed to favor neither of us. I was riled but calmed myself somewhat.  Was I competing for the notice of a child?  Against that relic of a man, Cogburn? What was the matter with me?

 

Clearly, I needed to heed my mother’s occasional hints and seek out feminine companionship.  

 

Rooster Cogburn lived up to his reputation as a cocky reprobate by trying ineffectually to prove his marksmanship.  I managed to take the upper ground during his flailing demonstration.  Miss Ross and myself once again found ourselves as two observers of one off-balance lawman. And I liked that.  I liked that rather more than was comfortable.

 

To distract myself, I threw cornbread targets into the sky as well and, I will say it, I proved better with my one arm and two eyes than Cogburn did with his two arms and one eye. 

 

Miss Ross grew impatient with our display and started riding off on her own, annoyance flaring from her upright form on her black horse.  “Gentlemen, shooting cornbread out here on the prairie is getting us no closer to the Ned Pepper gang,” she called over her shoulder.

 

Chastened, the Marshal and I ceased our ridiculous contest and got back to work. 

 

We rode on, following Cogburn’s understanding of the Territory, and came at length to a mine that had been carved into the face of a hillside.  There was a camp that had been set there, but the darkened fire ring was cold and the scraps of bone from a meal had been picked clean.  

 

The trail was cold and regret filled me, as did frustration.  Had I been wasting my time, traveling with Miss Ross and Cogburn? Had I let my quarry get too far away? I had I poorly served the Texas Rangers out of a misguided sense of – something – that kept me with Mattie Ross?

 

Cogburn was not apparently afflicted with my misgivings. Bold as brass, he strode to the open mouth of the mine.  “Lucky Ned!”

 

I felt as though the world sat in stillness as we waited for an answer.  Miss Ross sidled up closer to me as we waited. Close enough that I could feel warmth from her person against my arm.  We waited...for nothing.

 

I huffed a breath in my feeling of helplessness. “Very good, Cogburn,” I sneered. “Now what?”


	7. In Which LaBoeuf Does Not Abandon a Young Lady in Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize I’ve veered from the movie in small ways before now, but here is where I take a giant step off the trail. You have been warned! ;-)

**Chapter Seven:  In Which LaBoeuf Does _Not_ Abandon a Young Lady in Need**

 

“I know it hurts, Mr. LaBoeuf, but you need to eat. Your body cannot heal if it is not fed.  That is only sense,” Miss Ross stated, pushing more hard cornbread in and out of a thicker soup than had been afforded in a cabin once upon an evening.  

 

We were in the open again, with barely a covering for our heads against a freezing rain after the Marshal’s wild goose chase came to a sudden end at the abandoned mine.  I felt the chill of the night through the bullet hole in my body, flaring with bright flashes of pain through my skull. My jaw was swollen – I had taken quite the series of injuries on the night I was shot – and I was feeling a wish to be steeped in spirits once again.

 

However, as Cogburn was more drunk than usual, I refrained.  We had a young woman with us and she had to be protected.  I tried to take the tin cup from Mattie Ross and feed myself; in front of an awake, belligerent Rooster Cogburn, I was loathe to be treated in quite the same way that I tolerated when he was barely conscious.

 

I directed a glare at the doddering older man.  “Cogburn does not want me eating out of his store,” I muttered, too conscious of the malformation of my words as they came from my mouth.

 

Mattie clucked her tongue at me.  “That is silly.  You have not eaten the whole day.”  This was true.  It hurt like fire to chew anything and even a mild soup was painful to maneuver with my shoulder and mouth in the states they were in.  “Besides, it is my store you eat from, not his.”

 

“Let him starve!” Cogburn blasted from his side of the fire. Once again, I had the visual image of the Marshal versus Miss Ross and myself. That was not how this venture began, to be sure.  

 

Cogburn heaved himself to stand – sort of – on both feet before stooping to gather a few branches for the fire.  I could smell the alcohol strongly on him as he continued to rant, spittle flying from his mouth while his hands wove drunkenly in the gloaming.

 

“He does not track. He does not shoot – except at foodstuffs.”

 

“That was your idea,” I protested.

 

The marshal affected not to hear me. “He does not contribute! He is a millstone, with opinions!  He is a man who walks in front of bullets!”

 

I winced at the diatribe, for he was correct in the generalities, even if he bombasted over the rationale.

 

Mattie Ross rose to my defense, still holding the cup with my uneaten dinner. Her eyes flashed as she said, “Mr. LaBoeuf drew single-handed upon the Lucky Ned Pepper Gang while we fired safely from cover, like a band of sly Injuns!”

 

“We?” Cogburn retorted.

 

“It is unfair to indict a man when his jaw is swollen and tongue mangled and who is therefore unable to rise to his own defense!”  Miss Ross could one day make an admirable attorney, if females were allowed to do such a thing.

 

But they really were not; I had to speak for myself. “I can speak for myself,” I said to her more than to him, though I knew he heard my words.  “I am hardly obliged to answer the ravings of a drunkard. It is beneath me.”  I felt Miss Ross’s shock and sudden stillness as I rose to gather my things. I had pride, always, and it was not best served by being baby-fed by a young woman nor by being constantly belittled by a lunatic.  “I shall make my own camp elsewhere,” I declared, nodding a bit to Mattie Ross, my manly dignity doing its best to cover the weaknesses I suffered under.  “It is you who have nothing to offer, Cogburn.  A sad picture indeed. This is no longer a manhunt.  It is a debauch.”  Mattie gasped and I pressed my lips together in an effort not to answer her wordless realization or shock.  “The Texas Ranger presses on alone,” I concluded.

 

“Take the girl. I bow out!” 

 

Appalled, I rounded on him, my arms full of my bedroll.  “A fine thing to decide once you have brought her into the Choctaw Nation!”

 

He seemed to care not at all. “I bow out. I wash my hands,” he slurred falling back on a fur and belching grossly.

 

I was not surprised when Mattie Ross tried to make peace between us.  She stood, still holding the damned soup that had prompted this whole mess, her back straight and eyes forthright.  “Gentlemen, we cannot fall out in this fashion, so close to our goal, with Tom Chaney nearly in hand!”  

 

Then it was that U.S. Marshal Cogburn showed his true colors in a most horrible, ugly manner. He planted his hands on his spread knees and leaned toward the fire. “In hand?! If he is not in a shallow grave, somewhere between here and Fort Smith, he is gone! Long gone! Thanks to Mr. LeBoeuf, we missed our shot! We have barked, and the birds have flown! Gone gone gone! Lucky Ned and his cohort, gone! Your fifty dollars, gone! Gone the whiskey seized in evidence! The trail is cold, if ever there was one! I am a foolish old man who has been drawn into a wild goose chase by a harpy in trousers—and a nincompoop! Well, Mr. LeBoeuf can wander the Choctaw Nation for as long as he likes; perhaps the local Indians will take him in and honor his gibberings by making him Chief! You, sister, may go where you like! I return home! Our engagement is terminated! I bow out!”

 

At first, I was moving under the strength of my own sense of pride and anger.  Ignoring the deep pain in my body, I was able to lash my gear to my sturdy Appaloosa.  I saw my breath come out in white clouds of steam in the night air.  I huffed a great deal and muttered a considerable amount – imprecations against incompetent law men and adventures that took far too long and even against young ladies who sought to do the work of men.  I swung myself up on my horse and pondered my next move.

 

Until the nearest young lady of my acquaintance approached, her saddle all but overwhelming her as she crunched in too-large boots across the light coating of snow on the mountain ground.  “I am coming with you,” Mattie Ross informed me as she reached the makeshift rope fence we had established for the horses.

 

There was an air to her that I could not comprehend, but it struck me over and over again nevertheless.  An air of authority not usually seen in a woman, and certainly not in such a young one, encompassed her. Still, I had to refuse her.  “That is not possible.”

 

“Have I held you back?  I have a Colt’s dragoon revolver that I know how to use and I would be of no more burden to you than I was to the Marshal.”  She did not look back at the drunkard, but stood stalwart before me.

 

I sighed, loudly, and thought hard.  “You have earned your spurs,” I admitted to her.  Spurs were, in my reckoning of things, the visible sign of a competent Ranger. Indeed, we in my troop only awarded them to a seasoned Ranger who had proven himself.  Mattie Ross had more than done so.  “But, Miss Ross, the trail is cold. And I am considerably...diminished,” I admitted to her.

 

“You cannot give up,” she told me in her definitive manner.  “You have been chasing him for so long and we almost have him in our grasp!”  

 

I wanted to believe she was right. I wanted to believe for both of us.  But it was winter. And she was out here on the trail alone, without anyone to speak for her but a drunken lawman.  She had taken too much on her slender shoulders.  I did not know how to answer her.

 

My extended silence must have done to her what nothing else on this dire night had – her eyes welled with tears and her voice broke.  Mattie Ross, who had handled every adversity with courage and a clear eye, sagged as she regarded me.  “I misjudged you,” she whispered.  “I picked the wrong man.”

 

Her words hit me like a runaway train and I slipped from my horse.  Mattie Ross never, ever had admitted to making a mistake. Not in the entire time I had known her.  She was not capable of backing down, even when it would have been the wisest course.  That she had admitted – finally – this error in judgment made me think hard and fast about what I would have left her to if I did indeed follow through with my own course.

 

It would have been a grave error in my own judgment to leave her here with a drunkard.  Here in the middle of the Choctaw without a real protector who might do her some good.  Even if we turned around tomorrow, I could get her back to Fort Smith. I could take her home to Yell County, even, and privately resolved to do so.

 

The trail for Chelmsford had gone cold, but here was another responsibility of mine:  I had to return Miss Mattie Ross to her mother.  Her home.  

 

I extended my hand to her. “I misjudged you initially, too, Miss Ross.  I would be proud to ride at your side, now.”  

 

Stubborn girl wiped at her eyes and smiled into mine and, in spite of my swollen jaw, I had to grin at her. “This is a wonderful birthday present, Mr. LaBoeuf,” she informed me.

 

I chuckled and watched as she ducked her head before saddling her mount.  “Your birthday?”

 

“I am just fifteen today.”

 

With exaggerated humor, I tipped my hat to her as I remounted my horse.  “Happy Birthday then, Miss Ross.”


	8. In Which the Ranger is Terrified

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still with me? Good!

 

 **  
**

**Chapter Eight:  In Which the Ranger is Terrified**

 

“Do you suppose,” I ventured quietly as Mattie Ross and I trotted slowly from our prior encampment, “that you and I could abandon our formalities?”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

I felt my ears heat with a sudden discomfort and pulled my hat lower over my forehead.  “I only meant that if we are going to be traveling together, it would be far easier to dispense with the ‘Mr. LaBoeuf’ business and the ‘Miss Ross’ business and just be _William_ and _Mattie_.”

 

“I hardly think it is up to you to define these boundaries, Mr. LaBoeuf,” she snapped in a low tone.  “I realize that my – my insistence upon hunting for my father’s killer myself is rather untoward, but there was no one else to do the job. This does not make me any less a lady and therefore the ‘Mr. LaBoeuf’ and ‘Miss Ross’ business will continue until I say otherwise.”

 

Offended, I still had to acknowledge – to myself – that she was in the right and I said nothing.  She was by her own admission a young lady.  A _fifteen-year-old_ young lady and as such she was old enough to –

 

I gulped back a hard jolt of surprise.  Being alone with me, a single man, was enough to seriously compromise a young lady such as Miss Mattie Ross.  I did not want to be put in that position. Neither did I wish for _her_ to be maligned for being alone with a single man under forty.  As she had been the Marshal’s employer, of a kind, and he was in fact much older than I, that the three of us had traveled together was unexceptional in that Miss Ross would have been considered chaperoned.

 

With me, she would not be. Even though her virtue was as safe with me as it would be with any other Ranger.  Even more so, because I had her interest in my sights.

 

I decided, therefore, that we would not wander far from Marshal Rooster Cogburn.  I planned to find him in the morning, once the whiskey had left him and he could view his abandonment of Miss Ross in the shameful light of day.  I did not share this plan with Mattie – her insistence on formality be hanged, I could not keep wrapping my mind around _Miss Mattie_ or _Miss Ross_ or _Mattie Ross_ in every single thought.  Instead, I just tried to ignore my growling stomach and looked for a new campsite.

 

And I did my utmost to banish any thought in my head that Mattie Ross was fifteen years old.  I _especially_ did my best to remember that my little sister was engaged to be married at that age.

 

My sister, Caroline LaBoeuf, never did see her sixteenth birthday.

 

**=\=**

 

I should have tried to remain awake.  I should have shaken off the comforting influences of the hot meal Mattie made me eat, of the fire I built – larger than that I would have had for myself, but I was trying to keep Mattie warm, too – and of the knowledge that my companion had admitted to misjudging me, before.  

 

I should have been more alert. Instead, I allowed myself to relax into sleep so that I could escape the various vibrating pains all over my body.  Besides, being awake meant studying the young girl who entrusted her safety to me.  Remembering how I had initially told her I had thought to kiss her – how had I considered that? – made my skin heat again.  It was better all the way around to just sleep, I decided.  I would be a better tracker with a night of rest. A better Ranger.

 

**=\=**

 

The gunfire awakened me.

 

The report of a revolver echoed – only once.  I jolted to my feet, feeling the warmth of my blanket fall to my feet, as my eyes first sought for Mattie Ross.

 

My heart dropped deep into my gut before bounding up to my throat.  She was gone. 

 

“Mattie?  Miss Ross?” I called, seeing that her horse, Blackie, was still tethered cozily with my own trusty mount.  

 

Panic rushed into my chest, pushing out the pain I had carried.  I swallowed huge gulps of air as I quickly surveyed our campsite.  “All right. She has got the water bag. Fine. All right.”  Mattie had likely taken the bag and gone for water. There was some not far from us – the proximity of a small river had been a factor for the choice of the campsite we had shared with Cogburn the day before.  A young lady had personal issues to see to, as well, and she would best do that by herself.

 

Still.  There had been a _gunshot_!

 

What if there were ne’er-do-wells at the river? What if they – they saw her?

 

Propriety be damned, I had to get to her. Even if she scowled and cast aspersions on my character for so doing.  I was terrified as I scrabbled on foot to the river.  Voices carried up to me.  Only one of them was Mattie’s.  The other was far too familiar.

 

Chelmsford!

 

“Mattie!” I had no idea if my voice conveyed my fear for her or if it spoke only of my shock that she had found him.  It was as if Providence was on her side, after all.  

 

But then, I heard another voice.  “Mattie!”  

 

Marshal Cogburn!  I suspected, there in that instant, that he had been filled with remorse for his treatment of Miss Ross the night before and had come to the river to find either her or myself.

 

“I am down here,” the young lady called, sounding cool and calm and every inch in control of the situation.  “Chaney is taken into custody!”

 

What the hell did she think she was doing?

 

Pushing through the brush and around trees, I heard the soft sounds of the river and the interruptions of feet sloshing through a shallow crossing.  _Oh, Lord,_ I prayed – again! – _please keep Mattie Ross safe!_

 

“Stop!” she shouted, sounding frightened.  My heart pounded fiercely within me. She made some unclear sounds that were followed by, “Help me! Down here! Hurry up!”

 

No!  I finally reached the water and would have crossed it, too, as I saw Mattie Ross being slung like a sack of potatoes over Chaney’s shoulder.  “No!” I demanded, my own revolver in my hand.  I fired, but was fired upon as well.  Cogburn did his own share of shooting and I should have counted myself lucky enough not to stop another of his bullets with my chest.

 

We crossed gazes, the Marshal and I, and drew near to each other on the shore.  “Marshal, you have broken her faith in you.  It is your fault that she has been taken,” I declared, unable to stop myself.  “I accept a share of the blame – I slept – but if she had been with you, this would not have happened.”

 

“Shut your mouth, LaBoeuf.  I will not get into it right now. Right now, we need to get her back.” He sneered at me, his lip curling and his eye narrowed.  “That is, if you can shoot any better than you just did.”

 

“Cogburn! Do you hear me?”

 

“Ned,” the Marshal whispered to me.

 

“You will answer me, Rooster.  I will kill this girl! You know I will do it!”

 

My mouth was dry. “I will get my rifle and give chase,” I told Cogburn.  “You do as seems best to you as you know him.”

 

He nodded and I turned to run without care as to the sound I made in passing.  As I reached our camp, I heard “...give me time!”

 

What in the name of the Almighty was that man doing?

 

I did not trust him to serve Mattie Ross’s best interest.  I had to do it myself.  I vowed that I would find her and let her end Chaney with my own Sharp’s carbine.

 

If I found her alive and well, that is.  _If not –_

 

My mind refused to follow that train of thought.


	9. In Which the Ranger Finds the Girl

**Chapter Nine:  In Which the Ranger Finds the Girl**

****

It took me precious time to pack up the campsite from the night before.  I did my best to focus on it, trying not to contemplate what Mattie might be suffering at the hands of Ned Pepper and his gang.  I tried to remember every piece of information Cogburn had shared with me regarding Ned Pepper.  He was a murderer, but he had a strange affectation for young women and tried to be charming.

 

Mattie would not heed any ruse of his, but if the girl had a reckless tongue on her and –

 

I heard Cogburn’s voice call out, “LaBoeuf!  I have a proposition for you.”

 

“What?” I quite despised the man at that juncture, but two were better than one.  

 

“I have a long-standing vendetta against Ned Pepper.  I will follow him.  You get Little Sister away and safe.  If you can then see your way clear to helping me, I will not try to stop you.”

 

I snorted. “You would need help against that gang, I am sure.”

 

“Go,” he said with a half-steady arm. “You might need help yourself, before this day is over.”

 

I hoped that he was wrong. I hoped that I would find Mattie hale and hole and feisty as ever.  I even hoped that Marshal Cogburn would make it out all right, too.

 

He had left ahead of me and I heard the shouted conversation he was having with Ned Pepper.  Cogburn made it sound as if Mattie Ross meant next to nothing to him and that he would leave her just to be rid of the trouble.  I hoped Mattie did not hear him and grow discouraged.  She was a smart young woman, though. I felt _almost_ confident that she would be trying to either talk her way out of a difficult circumstance or trying to persuade Pepper to allow her to shoot the man who had killed her father.

 

I almost smiled at the imagined conversation.

 

Until I saw the overlying tracks of several horses heading off in one direction – and heard a man’s voice – Chaney’s voice – carrying across the dry air to me from another.  

 

“And _you_ would give _me_ an _affidavit_!”

 

Even through the anxiety that possessed me in that moment, I felt my battered mouth widen in a smile.  Mattie Ross, you are one of a kind.

 

Then, I realized that Mattie was likely alone with her father’s murderer and the smile disappeared as if it had never been. I checked my weapons, slid from the Appaloosa and tied her with a light loop to the low branch of a tree before following the threatening sounds of that voice.  The pounding in my chest that echoed in the healing bullet wound there as well as in my tongue had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with what I saw as I crested the ridge and saw the dip of earth just before the edge of land fell off into a fertile valley. 

 

It wasn’t the breathtaking landscape that had me frozen. It was fear.

 

My quarry was there.  Mattie Ross was, as well.  Chaney had her on the ground and I almost screamed in fury.   Instead, I lifted my rifle to take aim at him, but –

 

I could not fire. He bent himself almost double over Mattie’s form, a large knife glinting in the morning sun.  That knife was pressed against Mattie’s neck. If I fired and missed – unlikely, but I could not wager my bad arm against the life of a young woman – I could hurt or kill Miss Ross.  And even if I did not, it was highly likely that Chelmsford – who was a man not averse to bloodshed – would kill her anyway.

 

No, I had to disable him in such a way that his knife would no longer be a threat to Mattie.  

 

Fear tastes like gunmetal in the mouth.  I tasted it in its fullness of flavor as I stepped lightly and far too slowly across the packed earth to where Mattie was. So far as I could tell, she was still in one piece, only staring as well as she could at the handle of the knife that was threatening her.

 

“...But here,” he was saying with a threat as loud as his voice was low, “at least I have matters in hand, and once I have done for you –”

 

It was the last word I heard before I swung my rifle up and down with every ounce of strength in my body.  _Thwack!_ I hit him on the side of the head with a most satisfactory sound. Drooling mud and sweat and spit, he collapsed on Mattie before I could manage to gather myself enough to pull him off of her.

 

I kicked him to his back.  “So. This is Chelmsford.”  I pulled Mattie up with my good arm, assessing her appearance.  Her hat had been pushed off, but I didn’t even see a scratch on her face or anywhere on her skin.  Her eyes were curious.  So were mine, I was sure.  I cleared my throat, but made myself maintain eye contact with her.  “Did anyone _hurt_ you, Miss Ross?”  

 

“Not at all.”

 

I cocked my head, wanting to make sure I had made myself absolutely clear.  “Are you sure?”  Another pass of my gaze over her person was clear enough, I was fairly certain.

 

The color came to her cheeks and she looked beyond me to some point over my shoulder.  “I am _sure_ , Mr. LaBoeuf.”  She shook herself and regained her poise.  “I am – I am happy to see you.”  Before I could respond to that, she went on.  “Where is the Marshal? I heard him yelling, before.”

 

“I hope his words did not upset you.”

 

A crease formed between her dark brows.  “Why would they? He was being sensible and I realized that the two of you would have come up with a plan. I knew you had found one another by the river.”

 

I laughed short and hard.  “There is no one to equal you, Miss Ross.  Yes, we have a plan. His part, I fear, is rash. Now watch out,” I cautioned as we moved to the rocks that marked the end of the land at this place. “There is a pit there. Mind your footing.  This shelf of earth, here, will be safe.  Ah, there he is.”

 

“And is that – is that Ned Pepper?”

 

“It does appear to be so.”

 

I felt her settle just behind me, leaning forward to see as best she could while I took up my rifle once more.  Now that Mattie Ross was safe and away from any threat, I would see what could be done to help United States Marshal Rooster Cogburn.

 

“One against four,” she murmured at length. “It is ill-advised.”

 

I sighed. “He would not be dissuaded.”

 

“I can reload for you, if you wish.  I am afraid,” she added in an ashamed tone of voice, “that I dropped my father’s revolver in the river.”

 

I hefted my rifle up and sighted on the men below in the meadow.  “Thank you.  I hope I will not need to reload. If he needs my help, I will likely have only one chance to render it.”

 

“Oh.”  That was all she said before she focused her entire bearing on the figures moving closer together below us.  

 

Words were exchanged, surely, but we could not hear them.  I could only squint against the sun and keep my arms and fingers ready to fire. Some of them men splintered off and Cogburn waved two hands in the air.

 

Mattie gasped.  “Shoot them, Mr. LaBoeuf!”

 

“Too far,” I told her. “Moving too fast.”

 

I controlled my breathing so that my chest did not heave in and out so much as to offset my aim.  I watched, feeling almost helpless even with my carbine as Rooster squared off like King Arthur’s jousting knights from an old story in a fairy-tale land.  

 

Shots were fired.  Cogburn went down.

 

“No!” rasped Mattie.  I wished I could have reassured her, but I had to bring everything in me to aim at Ned Pepper.

 

“Oh, Lord,” I breathed. And fired.

 

The gun bucked back into my wounded shoulder and I screamed with the agony of it.  Mattie’s hands were there, though;  I could feel her checking the dressing on the wound even as she shouted, “Some bully shot! Four hundred yards, at least! He’s down!”

 

Gratified to have hit my target, I still moaned. “I am afraid I have –”

 

And then, in a blinding flash of pain, I fell over and knew no more.


	10. In Which There is a Desperate Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, the last chapter was close to canon... And now... we continue with my twisty little imagination...

**  
**

**Chapter Ten:  In Which There is a Desperate Ride**

 

“LaBoeuf!”  Water dribbled on my face and then splashed.  “Come on!  Mattie’s got herself stuck. No time to be sleeping on the job.”

 

“Mattie?” I whispered, my tongue stiff in my mouth.  “Chelmsford?”

 

“He is dead and down the cliff, sir.  Nice shooting.”

 

“I did not shoot him.”

 

“Then I guess she did herself. I should buy Sister a drink.”  He reached down to help me up and I did not deny him the privilege of so doing.  I needed help and we needed to get to Mattie.  “So she is in the pit and –”

 

I heard her scream. “Ahh!”

 

Rooster was at the mouth of that pit in an instant. I could not follow. I tried, but my balance was off and I became instantly dizzy so that I had to rest against the stacked rocks.  I saw my horse appear over the ridge and wondered if the Marshal had loosed her or if she had managed that her own self.

 

“What is that?” Cogburn yelled into the pit.

 

“Snake!  I am bit!”

 

My hazy brain sharpened at the words.  And though I winced at the subsequent gunshots, expecting to hear Mattie scream again as the misfiring Marshal hit _her_ instead of a snake, I drew near as well. The smoke cleared and I could see Cogburn struggling and slipping and stepping down to her, over layers of rock, roots of trees, and down to a shelf where Mattie lay, angled oddly and looking pale in the dark that surrounded her. My chest tightened and I strove to stand upright, knowing I had to do my best.

 

“Does Mr. LaBoeuf survive?” she asked. I was shocked, surprised and pleased that she had done thought to ask, what with her immediate danger.  

 

“He does.  Even a blow to the head cannot shut up a Texas Ranger for long.”  There was silence as I made my wobbly way to my horse.  “Can you move?” the Marshal asked Miss Ross.

 

“My leg is pinned. It might – it might be broken.”

 

“All right then.  LaBoeuf!”

 

I knew what would be needed.  Knowing I could in no way have strength enough to pull both man and girl from danger, I had to use the sturdy shoulders of my Appaloosa to do so for me.  With my rope, I made a sort of pulley around the nearest tree trunk and had my mount stand by while I threw the end of the rope into the pit.  

 

I saw the rope move and grow taut.  “I have her,” Cogburn said, his voice echoing in ripples out of the pit.  “Up with us.”

 

I led my horse gently forward so that Mattie would not be jerked and hurt further on our account.  As soon as they were clear of the hole in the ground, I halted the mare and hurried to Mattie’s side, to relieve the Marshal of his burden.  “Miss Ross,” I breathed, supporting her against my side.

 

She blinked into my face.  “Mr. LaBoeuf. You are badly injured.”

 

“We have to get her to help, LaBoeuf. She has been bitten and needs care immediately.”

 

Nodding, I tried to whistle to my mount.  She stepped past the Marshal to my side and helped to support Mattie.  “I can carry her.  We will go together.”

 

Cogburn looked fit to chew iron.  “I will take her and send help back to you.  Do not wander off.”

 

“We are not leaving him!” Mattie insisted, though in a weaker voice than I had ever heard her use before.

 

I picked up the hand that was cut and bleeding still from the quick treatment Cogburn had given to Mattie’s snakebite.  “Thank you.”

 

“Fine!  But she will ride with me, Ranger. You are barely fit to hold up your own head, much less carry a female.”

 

The poison was clearly working in Mattie Ross’s arm, so I did not argue.  As soon as the Marshal was on his horse, I hefted Mattie up to him and helped her settle in.  Then, I mounted my own horse and we began the most desperate ride of my life.

 

**=\=**

 

Scarpering our way down the side of the mountain, I paid close heed to the Marshal’s ability to bear his burden.  Mattie seemed to managing all right, though that she put up no fight at all in being borne like a sack of flour was an indicator as to the gravity of her situation.  She was feeling the bite.  Badly.

 

The sun climbed in the sky as we rode to wherever it was Cogburn knew she would be treated.  

 

“How far is it?” I called to him, as our horses rode harder than was wise. I worried for Little Blackie, upon which Cogburn was mounted.  My mount, of course, was hardy, even after the trials of the day.

 

“Far.”

 

“We should trade off, Cogburn.  Miss Ross’s horse, there, needs a bit of a rest.”

 

“Yes.”

 

The strain he was feeling showed in his taciturnity, and I was glad enough to have any reason at all to allow the horses a bit of a breath before we began another drag of hard riding.  For ride we did.  Holding Miss Ross against me, bearing most of her weight with my good arm, I directed the Appaloosa with my injured one.  She followed Little Blackie as the light passed from the sky, leaving it dark and cloudless and cold at first. 

 

The horses’ breath came in white trails of steam, their bodies steaming likewise as the air cooled.  In a rare lucid moment, Mattie turned her head and studied her horse.  “Little Blackie,” she murmured.

 

I ducked my head to hear her better.  “What?”

 

“So tired. Needs a rest.”

 

“No, Sister,” Cogburn called.  “You need a doctor.”

 

And so it went, mile after mile, as the clouds moved over us at last and a light snow began to fall.

 

At long last, even my reliable Appaloosa began to find the ride too arduous for her.  Little Blackie’s flanks were heaving and we had to abandon the horses as Mattie was unwilling for us to run them quite into the ground. 

Then, it became a matter of carrying the girl.  She grew feverish, a sour sweat coming from her skin by turns with fresh renewals of the fever brought on by the bite.  She began to rant against Chaney, Cogburn and even myself – berating me for the threat of a kiss or a spanking on our first meeting. It seemed months had passed since then, but in truth it had been perhaps a week. At most.

 

“We have to hurry,” I panted at the Marshal.

 

“I know it.”

 

We ran, then, as fast as we were able, trading off the ever-increasing burden of the young woman in our arms.  Our steps started to stagger. My heart beat too hard, my sides burned and the various wounds I had suffered in this manhunt screamed out for rest and healing but we could not stop.  They were minor in concern compared to the immediacy of a deadly snake bite.

 

“She’s dying,” Rooster Cogburn opined at last.  “God help us all, she will not make it.”

 

“She must,” I gasped.  He and I held her together, our steps only slightly faster than a slow jog as we kept moving.  “Too stubborn to die, this one.”

 

He tried to laugh, as did I.  But my own breath was choked by tears as much as by exertion.  I could not let her die.

 

Cogburn let out a grunt and fell to his knees. I joined him. A light shone not too far distant.  “Fire. Gun,” he rasped between heaving breaths. 

 

My arm felt like lead, but I did as he instructed, managing to fire the last bullet in my revolver before collapsing next to Mattie Ross and Rooster Cogburn on a sage-choked expanse of dark ground. 

 

The snow fell like a gentle benediction.


	11. In Which There is Surgery and the Marshal Takes His Leave

**Chapter Eleven:  In Which There is Surgery and the Marshal Takes His Leave**

****

“Huh. She will have to lose this arm.”  

 

The doctor was a primitive one.  A bear skin hung prominently over the side of one of two beds in the cabin where the Marshal had led us.  “Will it save her life?” Cogburn asked. I had no question to offer; in my experience, physicians were ornery and would do things their way, following any treatment with a healthy draught of alcohol to dull the pain.  

 

“It will.  If it does not, I will give you my bear skin,” the fellow said.  Cogburn’s lips twisted in a wry manner, but he seemed satisfied with this assurance.

 

Though his white beard did not look particularly appealing, I felt that he was our last hope for Mattie’s life and so did not complain as he hefted her himself to lay her out on the plank table.  Who knew when it had been properly cleaned?

 

“You. Hold her shoulders,” he directed to me.  “You,” he went on with a thick finger pointed at Cogburn, “hold her legs.  I do not have ether.”

 

Fortunately, Mattie Ross was so far gone in consciousness that she was unable to protest our manhandling of her.  My own exhaustion was pervasive, but I did my part and held her shoulders to the table.  Marshal Cogburn leaned on her legs – nothing having been broken, but only bruised, the doctor had ascertained.

 

After we were prepared to do our parts, the mountain of a man Cogburn insisted was a physician used large shears to cut away the upper left part of Mattie’s coat and the man’s shirt she wore. It had belonged to her father.  I felt nauseous as I saw the black lines of poison moving up her arm.  

 

The doctor indicated an invisible line between her elbow and shoulder with another pointing of his finger.  “I will cut right there.  I have a bone-saw.  Used it in the War of Northern Aggression,” he assured me. This told me he had been a Southern Sympathizer, but if he could save Mattie’s life, I would not hold it against him.

 

I had never considered myself a squeamish man. As a cavalry officer and a Texas Ranger, I prided myself on my tough skin and the ability to face any danger with a clear eye and level head.  I had seen faces blown off by gunpowder accidents.  I had seen men killed in all manner of horrible ways, including disembowelment.  I had seen my own body torn and wounded.  None of these affected me as much as the sight of a gruff, unlikely surgeon making quick work of removing the arm from an innocent young woman.

 

Mattie did not, thank Providence, awaken during the procedure.  Her body tensed, but she did not open her eyes as the saw cut through the comparatively thin bone of her arm.  Blood gushed forth as the limb fell away, but the doctor was prepared for that, having had a poker in the fire to cauterize the wound.

 

The stench of burnt flesh was enough to bring bile from my empty stomach to my throat.

 

I met the Marshal’s eye and winced at the pain I saw there.

 

The range-smelling surgeon cleaned his hands and slopped water and some kind of sharp-smelling something over the blood-washed table.  Maybe it was carbolic acid.  He checked Mattie’s pulse at her neck, put a cool poultice on her forehead and then washed his hands.  “Who is hungry?” 

 

**=\=**

 

I did not much care for U.S. Marshal Rooster Cogburn, but he proved not to be entirely reprobate.  After the physician had seen to Mattie Ross, Cogburn insisted I be examined and stitched up as well. What is more, he left hard cash to pay for services, as well as a bottle of his “best liquor.”  The furry physician did not seem to know if the whiskey was meant for me or for Mattie, but that did not seem to matter.

 

He drank it all himself.

 

I dozed, sure that Mattie and I were safe.

 

It was not until I had truly awakened that I discovered Cogburn’s sloppy note to me. He wrote one to “Little Sister” too, but I forbore from prying into her affairs.

 

“Le Beef,” he began, misspelling my name immediately.  “I am leaving you and Little Sis in good hands, here.  You will be all right, I am sure.  Get her home. I know you know where she lives, for you met her mother.  Take good care of her.  I would not refuse to ride with you again. - Reuben Cogburn, U.S. Marshal.”

 

**=\=**

 

“I remember shooting him.  Do I get a share in the reward?” Mattie asked me soon after she, too, became functionally coherent.  She was resting, half-propped up on a bag of flour under a pillow, her left arm covered in boiled-in-acid linen.  No blood had seeped through recently.  Her hair was still in braids, albeit they were a sight.  I did not tell her so.  

 

“I can probably work that out, yes,” I said to her.  “But I might have to make your name Matt Ross on my report,” I teased.  

 

Her eyes widened, then narrowed.  “Matt? Why?”  Her lip curled in derision.  “Do you not wish to report that a female brought him down while you did not?”

 

That did tweak my pride, I admit, but that was not my true reason and I told her so.  “Miss Ross,” I said, leaning forward on the stool the doctor had provided before he went out to collect firewood, “you have been in my company without benefit of chaperon.  This could compromise you.”  


“And you,” she snapped shrewdly.

 

“And me,” I allowed with a nod before raking my hand through my hair. I needed it to be cut and washed. A good shave would not have hurt, either.  “So if I publicly acknowledge your role in this manhunt, I should probably make you sound like a boy.” At the firm lift of straight brows, I amended that to, “A man.”

 

Pressing her lips together, she acknowledged the wisdom of this.  “All right.”

 

I saw when her face went pale that she was experiencing another bout of extreme discomfort with her wound.  Peppery as her temper was, I did not refer to it, but merely asked if there was something she saw about the cabin that would serve to entertain her while we waited for the woodsman-physician’s return.

 

“A mirror,” she said softly. “I want one. I – I feel...” Her right hand plucked absently at the blanket under which she rested before her fingers edged toward her absent left hand. My heart twisted in my chest.  “I want to see myself.”

 

I took her hand in mine. “I don’t think he has one.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“You do look a fright,” I told her with a smile.  “You might want to put your hair back in its usual order.”

 

Her chin fired up and she glared at me – which was what I was hoping for, to be honest.  “I will.  My brush is in my pack.”

 

I knew that and I got it for her, prepared to be of use to her as I had once been to my own sister Caroline, before – before she died.  “I think I can –”

 

“No!” she snapped.  “Give me my brush. I will do it!”

 


	12. In Which LaBoeuf Plaits Hair

**Chapter Twelve:  In Which LaBoeuf Plaits Hair**

 

I was summarily dismissed from Mattie’s presence the first time she tried to braid her hair.  Part of me was angry, part of me understood entirely why she had to do that.

 

She had pride too, at least as fierce as my own.  When I came back in from seeing to my own personal business outside, I saw that _Miss Ross_ was back, every hair brushed and braided, her skin freshly washed, and her eyes narrowed as she contemplated a book in her right hand.  She ignored me, for the most part, and I did my best to do likewise, knowing that she was prickly under the best of circumstances.

 

But, when it came time for dinner, it was then my turn to feed her.  I insisted.

 

“I can learn to do it myself,” she protested, pushing weakly at my arm.  “I have to,” she added with a quiet desperation I was not sure she wanted me to hear.  

 

“I am not denying that you do,” I said, knowing her temper well by now and not wanting to aggravate her.  “But it is right that I help you since you helped me.” I lifted one brow at her – a trick my father had taught me before he was killed in the War – and waited while she made an amusing face at me.  Then I said, “Remember, I was not always happy about it, either, but it did help. You helped.”

 

She sighed, glared balefully at her truncated arm, and leveled me a wicked look.  “Fine.  I am hungry and I will learn how to do it myself tomorrow.”

 

I had my doubts as to the quickness of this learning experience, but said nothing of them.  Instead, the doctor and I discussed the life of a solitary man and how it felt to be sociable on the rare occasions that it occurred.  As Mattie was still in a brown study when conversation died down, I betook myself out of doors into the snow-flecked air to see if I could possibly spy the horses we had had to leave behind on our desperate ride to get help.

 

If the horses did not find us with their plain good sense, I imagined Mattie and I would find it difficult to get back to civilization, never mind getting her home as I had promised Cogburn as well as myself. 

 

When I returned to the cabin as darkness tinted the sky, I kicked the snow off my boots and slapped it from the placid flanks of my Appaloosa.  She had found me, good mare, but Little Blackie was nowhere to be seen.  I hesitated before the rough-hewn door to the cabin, wondering how to break the news to Mattie.  Stalling, I led my mount away from the door and poked around to find a bucket for water to water the horse.  

 

That being done, I took a breath and went inside.

 

The doctor unfolded himself from the smallish stool by his hearth.  His pale eyes narrowed as he studied me.  “I stitched you up yesterday.  You should not pull at my handiwork today.”

 

“I am fine,” I said with a small wave toward my shoulder. “My speech is clearer and –“

 

“Good, good,” he said, sidling past me and scooping up his heavy bear skin cloak from a peg near the door.  “I will be back shortly. There is food in the pot if you are hungry.”

 

He strode out of the place as if he had serious, pressing business and I suppressed my smile. Turning to Mattie, who was still convalescing, I rolled up on my booted toes, hearing my spurs clink as I came back down.  “Hello, Miss Ross.”

 

She had a book with anatomical drawings open on her lap.  I pursed my lips but figured that she needed something with which to occupy herself and a mind like hers would not be satisfied with normative fare. Medical texts would suit her.  She ran her lone hand absently over a diagram of intestines.  “Good _evening_ , Mr. LaBoeuf.”  

 

Her knitted brows told me she was miffed beyond coping with her amputation.  _Evening_ , she had said.  And then, I understood that she had missed me and once again kept back my smile.  Instead, I doffed my hat and set it next to me as I sat on the stool next to her bed.  “Yes’m. Good _evening_.  Can I get you anything?” It occurred to me that she herself might need to eat or drink or – take care of _other_ business with which I would rather _not_ assist.  

 

She grimaced and puffed exasperated sounds out between her lips.  “I could not make my braids properly.”

 

I nodded.  “I see that.”  She had clearly tried while I was out, and I would not have said anything about the results, since I knew better than to do so.  “They look fine for a first attempt.  I imagine it is nearly impossible to do that at all, considering you have no mirror and – and don’t have practice working with your right hand alone.” I tried to be matter-of-fact about it – Mattie Ross was not a sentimental female.  She would not want my pity.

 

But, in truth, I did pity her. I felt partly responsible for her condition, though she would have scoffed to hear me say so.  I saw the defeated slump of her shoulders, the linen-swathed stump of her left arm, the lack of flame in her sharp brown eyes and my gut kind of turned. It felt like I was in the presence of something almost unnatural:  Mattie Ross out of sorts.  She finally met my eyes and I saw a plea in them, silent and fractured, but there.

 

A lump formed in my throat.  My heart sped briefly and I realized that here, things would change for her.  I did not make her say it, though.  I merely held my hand out, with an undemanding palm facing upward.  Schooling my expression against the tenderness that had suddenly enveloped me out of seemingly nowhere, I merely waited.

 

Like a horse – Cogburn would have been amused at the comparison, but Mattie would not so I refrained from saying it out loud – she blew air out her nose and tossed her head.  Then, compressing her lips to a thin line, she slid her hand to her hairbrush – a wooden handled one with stiff bristles – before rapidly all but tossing it to me.  “Do not say _I told you so_ ,” she snapped.  And then, she added, “You better comb your own, too. It looks no better than mine.”

 

Finally, I had to laugh.  “Miss Ross, I will be happy to oblige you.”

 

I untied the cords that kept her braids tight.  She gave me a sidelong glare. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

 

“I used to help my sister with her hair when she was a little girl. I have done this before.”

 

“You have a sister?” Mattie asked, her back stiff as I untangled the mess of her hair.

 

I paused, brushing carefully through the brown locks of Mattie’s hair. It was very long and had waves in it created by her braids, no doubt.  I held each section of it in my hand in turn, brushing it straight as I could and making sure no knots would trouble either of us as I plaited it later.  “I _did_ , Miss Ross.”

 

I heard her take in a swift, loud breath before she reached back around and caught at my sleeve with her hand.  “Mattie.  You can – you can call me Mattie.”

 

Something tight within my chest loosened just a bit as I covered her hand with mine and smiled at the top of her head.  “Thank you, Mattie.  I’m William.”

 

“I remember.”  

 

When she let go of me, after a quiet moment, she inhaled again – deeply enough that her shoulders rose and fell.  “Can you talk about her?”

 

“Who?”

 

“Your sister?”

 

I swallowed and parted Mattie’s hair in a straight line as she customarily wore it, laying one section neatly over her shoulder so that it fell in front of her while I took charge of the other section. My memory saw bright gold hair between my fingers.  “Her name was Caroline,” I said at length.  “She was fifteen years old when she died.  She and her fiancé were killed by outlaws.”

 

The memory of her battered body would never, ever leave me. I did not share with Mattie the gruesome details, but I sensed that she comprehended the violence I kept to myself.

 

When I finished braiding her hair, she murmured, “Thank you, William.”

 

The cold, still-mourning place inside myself warmed a little as she used my name. And then still more when she brought one of her braids around so she could examine it – for examine it she did.  “You did very well,” she told me.

 

And she smiled.  Just a little, but it was enough.


	13. In Which LaBoeuf and Miss Ross Get Home

**Chapter Thirteen:  In Which LaBoeuf and Miss Ross Get Home**

 

We stayed with the woodsman-physician for a fortnight.  In that time, having no funds of my own, I paid him back for his time, trouble and provender by working around his cabin.  I chopped firewood as the snows fell more thickly from the sky.   I sealed holes in the walls and roof and hunted for him as well.  

 

Not to be outdone, though she was lacking the convenience of two hands, Mattie directed and assisted in the preparation of flatbread and soups that could be frozen and reheated.  She also did her best (with a borrowed hand from me) to mend the doctor’s clothes and darn his socks.  He had three pair.  It was a trial.

 

“Thank you so much, Doctor,” Mattie said as we prepared to leave.  We had only my Appaloosa to ride upon – Mattie had to name my horse River “Because she never stopped running” – so it would take a bit of time to return to Yell County, Arkansas.  “Thank you for everything you have done for us. I pray that your kindness is returned to you tenfold.”  

 

The doctor hemmed and hawed. “I have been glad of the company, but it will be good to have the house to myself again, as well.  I have people who want expectorant to see.”

 

Mattie grinned.  “I am sure you do.”

 

I shook the man’s paw-like hand.  “Thank you, sir. I do not know what we would have done without you.”

 

“She would have died,” he said casually.  “And you might have, as well.”

 

I nodded; he was likely correct.  “Well, thank you.”

 

“Remember to stay warm,” he advised us as I adjusted my usual pack on my mount’s – River’s – back.  “Keep your teeth clean and get out of the snow quickly if there is a sudden storm.”

 

We promised to heed his directions and then, Mattie and I cantered off.

 

**=\=**

 

“Mattie? Are you all right?”  My voice carried sharply in the morning cold. She insisted, naturally enough, on privacy every morning.

 

Her lighter voice reached me with perfect clarity from the middle of a cluster of evergreens.  As we moved north, the weather grew a bit colder and the snows were more frequent.  “Yes, William, I am perfectly well.”  

 

It took her a long time in the mornings, which was frustrating.  Once mounted, she and I did well together. She was a slender girl, and she still wore her father’s trousers. She also wore my spare shirt.  To keep warm, the the doctor had produced for her a coat he had “inherited from an unfortunate patient.”

 

We had beat the vermin out of it together while the doctor was taking a short trip.

 

We rode during the days in a manner both awkward and natural, Mattie and I.  Due to her amputation, she rode in front of me so I could help her with her balance.  Sitting astride, her legs were sore every day, but she did not complain.  Neither did I – though I confess the awkwardness for me was two-fold. I had never ridden with a female pressed against me before and sometimes, it took a great deal of concentration to keep my mind on the trail.

 

Mattie Ross was an innocent of a great many things, I would have wagered, and I wanted to keep it that way.  Sometimes, when she grumped and grew angry, I remembered her mostly as the girl-child she had seemed to me in the earliest days of our association.  Stubborn to a fault, willful, annoying.  At such times, it was easiest for me to see myself as her protector and friend as we moved slowly toward her home.

 

At other times, though, I would catch a dried track of tears that that had made its way through the light dusting of travel-dust on her face and my heart would clench.  And she would – sometimes easily, sometimes with visible reluctance – wrap her one good arm around me as I helped her dismount at different times during the day.  A few times, she had needed to lean against me before she could stand fully on her own. I understood that her body was tired and gravely wounded.  There was no shame in needing a little help.  

 

“You are the bravest person I think I know,” I told her once, when tears wet her lashes.  

 

She sniffled and turned her face sharply from me.  “You clearly do not know people of quality. You should meet some.”

 

“I think I have.”

 

Slowly, her posture relaxed and she met my eyes again.  “I think I have, too.”

 

**=\=**

 

“We’re here. Wait,” Mattie insisted, reaching back to slap my thigh.  “Wait.”  I heard her breathe harshly in and out as I leaned my head forward over her shoulder.  We stared at the weathered farmhouse ahead of us, with its widely spaced wooden fence and the deep porch that fronted it.  

 

I remembered the house, of course. It had been perhaps a month since I had last seen it, or thereabouts.  “Are you all right?” I asked her, unconsciously wrapping one arm around her waist to make sure she didn’t lose her balance and fall.

 

She nodded quickly. Against my arm, her heart pounded with a fierce beat.  “I just – they do not know, William. They do not know and they will stare at me and –”

 

“They are your family, Mattie.  They love you,” I said quietly.  “You cannot hide because of your injury.”

 

“I can barely eat without spilling half of everything. You know this!” she snapped, turning her head suddenly to meet my eyes. Our noses touched and my mouth went dry suddenly.  

 

I sat up. I had to get off the horse – River – in a quick dismount.  “You stay there,” I said, willing my body to relaxation as I reached for my mare’s reins.  “I will walk you in.  Give you another minute or two to adjust.”

 

“Yes. Thank you.”  Just after I settled I started to walk, she called, “William?  Will you give me an address where I can write to you?”

 

I halted and turned to practically stare at her.  “I beg your pardon? Can it be that Miss Ross wants to keep in touch with a Rodeo Clown like me?” I teased.

 

Even at the distance of half a horse-length, I could see the blush in her face.  “It could be that _Mattie_ would like to keep in touch with her friend _William_ ,” she retorted after a moment.  “That would be proper, would it not?”

 

“I do believe I would like that.  To know how you get on and such,” I said, continuing up to the house.  “I will leave you my mother’s address,” I told her.

 

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

 

And then, we were seen by Mattie’s mother and, between her initial joy at seeing her daughter, and the horror and fear and female tears that followed, Mattie was established once again in the bosom of her family.

 

After spending a few days with the Ross family – to rest River as much as to be of use to Mattie and her mother and siblings – I left Yell County to return to my own place in Texas.

 

It was a long, lonely ride. I could not remember ever being so lonely on the trail, before.

  



	14. In Which the Ranger and the Young Woman Correspond

**Chapter Fourteen:  In Which the Ranger and the Young Woman Correspond**

****

**Select correspondence from 1883 - 1885**

 

_December 20, 1883*_

__

_Dear Mr. LaBoeuf,_

__

_I hope this letter finds you well. I know you will excuse the sloppy handwriting, but I am still learning and I refuse to allow another to pen my words while I am capable of doing so myself._

__

_I am well.  We are determined to celebrate Christmas this year, even without my father. The little ones expect it and Mama and I will do our best._

__

_I think of you often as I try to braid my hair. I will tell you, here on paper and not to your face, that I have not yet managed to get such a straight part myself as you did._

__

_Please give my best regards to your mother._

__

_Sincerely,_

__

_Mattie Ross_

__

 

 ==

 

January 24, 1884

 

Dear Mattie,

 

I thought we had agreed on Christian names?  

 

My mother sends her surprised greetings.  Now that you have got her thinking about my keeping company with females, prepare for unusual mail to come by post in the future.

 

Enclosed, you’ll find a gift from the State of Texas.  I hope it comes in handy.  

 

Happy New Year, Mattie.

 

Sincerely,

 

William

 _[Enclosed was a bank draft for fifty dollars._ ]

 

== 

__

__

__

__

_May 20, 1884_

__

_Dear William,_

__

_I hope you are being safe out there and “keeping your teeth clean” as our friend the physician directed.  You and the other Texas Rangers are in my prayers as you seek to find your latest quarry.  I am sending you a copy of the New Testament for you to keep in your saddle bag, should you so wish.  It is less bulky than the entire Bible.  I hope your mother does not think me too forward._

__

_My mother is doing very well, and she thanks you for asking.  Little Frank is wanting spurs of his own so he can walk like you. I think he is foolish, but there you have it.  My sister Victoria is running around as you predicted she would.  Her hair is a pretty golden color in the sunshine, but she does not remember our father at all._

__

_We have planted for the autumn harvest.  You know you are welcome if you are out this way.  And if you see Marshal Rooster Cogburn, do tell him I said_ _Hello_ _._

__

_Sincerely,_

_Mattie_

 

 

 

==

November 1, 1884

 

Dear Mattie,

 

I am sorry to have missed your harvest and sorry, too, that you sent three letters to me without getting an answer.  I have been thoroughly castigated on that score already, let me assure you.  I have not been back here in quite some time, having been in pursuit of one George Tobler. I do not know if you have heard of him, but he was ranging in the Choctaw Nation.  It took us months, but we have found him and brought him in.

 

He is awaiting trial right now.  I considered giving him the copy of the New Testament you sent to me, but you inscribed it for me and I did not wish to give that away.

 

As my friend, I beg you will indulge me and let me tell you that it was a hard ride, chasing Tobler.  You will not be surprised that River survived without a scratch, but I myself have a new scar to show you when we meet again.  

 

I am hoping to ride out that way in the Spring, Mattie.  I have something for you from my mother.  I can see your expression now, but try to smile when I bring it, all right?  It is only a book.  You might even like it.

 

I will try to be a better correspondent in the near future, so please keep writing. I enjoy hearing from you.  

 

Your friend,

William

 

 

 

== 

_February 14, 1885_

__

_Dear William,_

__

_Your mother’s note included with your January letter made me laugh, so I am writing on Saint Valentine’s Day.  I will not pretend not to understand her hints, but really, you and I have not set eyes on each other for more than a year._

__

_My mother is entirely pleased when there is a letter from you, but she has not hinted at anything.  After all, I am unsociable and have only one arm. It is to be expected I will be the spinster daughter.  Providence is not to be argued with, in my readings._

__

_Frankly, I am feeling a bit useless.  We have had to hire a man on to help since Christmas, because I am not fit to do much of what needs doing and Little Frank is not yet grown enough to take on an adult’s responsibilities.  I am considering moving into town and finding work as a bookkeeper.  Chaney –_

__

_Do you think it would be wrong, William, to be a bookkeeper? Chaney called me “the little bookkeeper,” you know.  Because I kept my father’s books. I still do the books, here on the farm. I could do them in town._

__

_Before I start sounding morose, I will end this letter._

__

_Your friend,_

_Mattie_

 

 

 

==

March 1, 1885

 

Dear Mattie,

 

I will dispense with the formalities at once and remind you, Miss Ross, that you have earned your spurs. You are fit to do anything you set your mind on doing.  If you want to be a bookkeeper, by all means do so. I could find you a place here in Texas that would suit you, if you wished.  

 

And on that other point...  Forgive the impertinent Rodeo Clown, but are you entertaining suitors at your age?  I forget sometimes that you are a young lady.  Do you put up your hair? Caroline did when she became betrothed, and she was fifteen. 

 

Do not despair, my friend.  You are far too young to consider yourself a spinster.  Look at me. I am a bachelor yet at the age of thirty-one!

 

I hope to be up your way in the springtime.  I will let you know the particulars when I get back from the next manhunt.

 

Your friend,

William

 

 

 

==

_July 11, 1885_

__

_Ranger Wm. LaBoeuf_

_Care of the Texas Rangers, Amarillo, Texas_

__

_William,_

__

_I am worried, now.  I have not heard from you for months, and you did not come to visit in the spring.  It is now full summer and still you are silent.  You went on a manhunt you said.   I read just last week that George Tobler had escaped and was being pursued by the Texas Rangers.  It would be just like you to go off after him and not tell me._

__

_I am writing to your mother.  She is anxious to hear from you, as am I._

__

_Please, send word or a telegram or something to let us know how you are._

__

_Sincerely,_

_Mattie Ross_

 

 

 

 

 

**The Western Union Telegraph Company**

**Received at Fort Smith, Arkansas           July 18, 1885**

****

**To:  Miss Mattie Ross**

****

**Ranger LaBoeuf has been shot.  He is alive, but cannot write.  He sends apologies and will write soon.**

****

**Your servant,**

**Col. T.D. Ransom**

**Amarillo, TX**

 

 

 

 

September 1, 1885

 

My dear Mattie,

 

Thank you for worrying so about this Rodeo Clown.  My fellow Rangers in the Troop find this all very amusing.  We have had little to smile over, so this is not a bad thing.

 

Next time this happens, I will find a way – any way – to notify you.

 

I have had a fever and am now being nursed by my mother.  She encloses a letter, I believe.  Please let me know how the hired man turned out and how your family is. I know harvest time is busy.

 

I will see you soon.

 

William

 

 

============

 

_* Date based upon the Coen Bros’ script, typed in June, 2009._

_  
_


	15. In Which the Ranger Finds Trouble

 

**Chapter Fifteen: In Which the Ranger Finds Trouble**

 

“And take these too, Will,” my mother instructed, handing me up a mysterious parcel wrapped in a fine cloth.  “She is my friend too, after all this time, and I want to send her an early present.  You told me the book was ruined?”

 

With a wry grin and, yes, flushed cheeks, I accepted the package.  “Yes, it was, Ma. I will make sure this makes it all the way to Yell County, however.”  

 

She patted my knee and eyed me carefully.  Concern and worry shone in her pale blue eyes.  She had gone more gray, she said, since I had been injured earlier that year.  I was just thankful enough that my shoulder could be repaired. I was able to ride and shoot and that was all I could hope for.  “You see that it does.  There is something in there for her mother, too.”

 

“All right!” I laughed and clucked my tongue so that River – my faithful mare – started away from the house I shared with my mother.  “Thanks, Ma!”

 

The smile stayed on my face as I rode away from my house.  My heart beat fast, truth to tell.  I looked forward to seeing Mattie Ross again.  Her last letter, admittedly, had not said much about farm affairs, but her relief to hear from me had been clear in her caustic prose.  No one could make me smile and wince in quite the same way as Mattie.

 

She had just turned seventeen, according to my recollection.  I had more than my mother’s gifts for her.  I had a gift from myself, as well.  

 

**=\=**

 

The sun was setting low in the sky when I reached the Ross farm.  No light accented any window, however.  I urged River to step around the property, all the while with the butt of my revolver wedged up against my hand. Just in case something was afoot, here.

 

I had not survived George Tobler by being complacent.

 

The outbuildings were all quiet and apparently deserted.  A quick look, however, showed me that crops had been gathered and stored.  I was not a farmer so could not say how well all had been handled, but if my Mattie had anything to say about it, I was sure all was in perfect order.

 

As the last rays of the sun touched the sloping roof of the farmhouse, I knocked on the front door.  After waiting and knocking a few times, I tried the door to call inside – because I did not want to ride away if someone was there.  

 

The door was locked, however.

 

“Well, River,” I muttered as I returned to my trusty Appaloosa, “I suppose we can wait here on the porch or ride into the nearest town and get a room for the night.”  Not wanting to be shot as a trespasser, I felt I shouldn’t camp out on the porch, after some thought.  I wasn’t as quick as I used to be – though my former speed and accuracy were returning with practice.  That fever left me considerably debilitated.

 

I was disappointed as I rode away.  I had looked forward to seeing Mattie – and not seeing her after all the tension of the past hours and and days and weeks and, yes, even years, piled up on me all at once. It was exhausting. Still, a good night’s rest in Dardanelle would not go amiss and I set my mind to that.  

 

It was less than an hour’s ride to reach the town, and I was gratified to see that the streets had not been “rolled up” with the sunlight.  Instead, there was a collection of horses and buggies and even a carriage gathered haphazardly around the largest of he buildings on the main street.  Curious, I went to investigate.

 

It seemed I had arrived just in time for a social.  A smile pulled at my whole face, but part of me was unhappy as well.  If I had known – perhaps I could have pushed to arrive the day before and asked Mattie to attend with me.  We could have danced – I had never thought of that before.

 

I draped River’s lead loosely over the railing at the end of the porch, dusted myself off, and decided to take a look to see what was going on.  The only name on the building was Dardanelle Hall and I supposed the locals used it for all sorts of gatherings, from church services to trials to auctions.  And, apparently, dancing.  The music was lively and I grinned to see the unexpectedly colorful gowns the ladies wore as they swirled and hopped with their partners. Circles and squares and all manner of forms were undertaken while I observed.  My throat was dry, though, and I thought to see if there was anything wet about.

 

The crowd was heavy at the front door, so I stepped around back and heard some more raucous sounds and the distinctive clinking of tin cups. I had found the watering hole.  I pulled a few coins from an inner pocket on my coat and was just about to reach the inebriated tenders of a few kegs and bottles when I heard a voice that was familiar in its sharpness, if not in its actual tone.

 

“You will unhand me this moment, sir, or I will scream. And then I will tell your mother.”

 

Mattie Ross!  

 

I did not even remember being thirsty as I shoved my coins back where I had kept them.  Instead, I strode, my feet coming down heavily on the boardwalk and then the packed earth. My spurs jingled and, to me, the sound was menacing as I followed the sound of the male voice sparring with Mattie’s.  

 

“Aw, come on, Miss Mattie!  You are not a bad-looking woman, you know, and right smart, too.  I can teach you things you have not yet learned, right?”

 

“Mr. Colgate. I will not be spoken to in this manner – I may only have the one hand, but I assure you it is not – oh!”

 

The final syllable out of her mouth was pained and it had me running behind the next building and around the corner. How in blazes had Mattie allowed herself to be separated so far from the rest of the dancers?  

 

“Let me – ow!”

 

The scene before me had me acting before I thought.  A man of my height had twisted Mattie’s arm behind her and was apparently trying to slobber on her, his free hand moving where it had no business being.  Mattie was struggling, but her assailant was stronger by far than she.  In two steps, I had reached them and had my hand around the man’s throat, pulling him back.

 

He swore, and it was no kind of language to use in front of a lady.  I backhanded him as soon as he let go of Mattie.  

 

“William!”

 

“Mattie. Just a moment.”  

 

“Hey! Who are you?” the fellow said.

 

“William.  LaBoeuf.  Texas.  Ranger.” Each word was punctuated soundly with a fist to his face.  “When a lady says to let her go, I advise you to comply,” I concluded, with a final fist into his soft belly.  He collapsed, falling over himself, spitting.

 

I hoped I had loosened a few teeth for him.

 

Shaking my hands out, I turned then to Mattie. It was full dark now, but some illumination from the building where the dance music played cast squares of light on the ground beyond us.  “Mattie,” I said, my hand out to her. 

 

She stood there, her head moving to look first at me, then at the piece of trash on the ground, then back at me.  Finally, she took my hand and I allowed myself to do something I had thought of often.  I wrapped my arms around her, surprised to feel her trembling next to me.  Mattie Ross was not the trembling type.

 

“Mattie, are you all right?”  I moved my head back and looked closely at her face, given the little light available.  She seemed unhurt, but I did not know for certain.  “Please, tell me.”

 

Her eyes were dark, dark and wide and deep as they looked frankly into mine.  “I am fine, William. I am just very, very surprised.” She took a deep breath and ducked her head.  “I did not think you would ever come back.”  

 

I was struck almost speechless and could only say her name.  “Mattie...”

 

“I thought you had not come before, that perhaps – perhaps your mother’s hints had borne fruit elsewhere and I would have thought that to be a very wise thing.”

 

There was not a word I could say to that. Not one word of the flood of them in my brain could I choose to answer her.  So, I did the only thing I knew to do.

 

I slipped my hands from her back to her face, tilted her head, and kissed her.


	16. In Which There is Plain Speaking

**Chapter Sixteen:  In Which There is Plain Speaking**

 

Kissing Mattie Ross was something that had often crossed my mind, indeed, from the first time I laid eyes on her while she was sleeping in that rooming house years ago.  In the time since I had left her with her family, during the time we had corresponded, my thoughts had lingered on the notion – more and more often of late.  When I was so severely wounded, my first thoughts had been of her.  My mother informed me I spoke _of_ Mattie and _to_ Mattie while I floundered in fever.

 

Kissing Mattie Ross was not what I had expected, even so.  Her response showed me she had been kissed before, but not often.  I felt her lips part under mine, though, and it meant that my attentions were not unwelcome.  Relief rushing through me, I broke off the kiss and held her more tightly against me.  “Mattie...  How could you imagine that I would not have come back?”

 

I could feel her hand at my back, her fingers clutching sporadically at my coat, while she breathed heavily.  “William...  I do not know, now.”  Then, it was her turn to pull away a little.  “I – I cannot think of what to say.”

 

That she was flustered and unsure made me feel very protective and tender toward her, I pressed my lips to her forehead and, seeing that Mr. Colgate was nowhere in view, I turned a bit and offered Mattie my arm to escort her back to the festivities not far away.  “Say you will dance with me,” I suggested.

 

She laughed a little. “I am not an accomplished dancer.”  She went on to tell me how she, her mother and siblings and the hired man had come to town to attend the dance. 

 

“Ah, the hired man. What is his name?”

 

“Harris Austin.”

 

“And is he helpful?”

 

“He is good with – around the house,” she said, hesitating between her words.  “I still tend to manage the farm.”

 

Even though we were now within a circle of lantern light outside of the Hall, I pressed a kiss to the top of her head.  “I knew you were in charge of that. The barn is a pattern-card for order and sense.”

 

She smiled up at me, clearly pleased that I had noticed. My breath stuck in my throat. “Mattie,” I murmured, “you have grown into a handsome woman.”  Her skin was clear and glowed with color. Her lashes thick and beguiling around those dark, dark eyes.  Lips red – perhaps with my kiss – and hair arranged with ringlets around her face, Mattie Ross was indeed a fine-looking woman.  “Truly, I could stare at you all night.”

 

“You do not need to sweet-talk me to dance with me, William LaBoeuf.”  Her grimace confused me and I stopped her when she would have walked away.  “What?”

 

“I was not sweet-talking you.  I was telling you the truth.  Mattie – I admire you,” I whispered, taking her hand in both of mine and tilting her chin up with our combined clasp.  “I have for – for a long time.  Do not tell me it is all one-sided,” I advised with half a smile. I remembered her generous response to my kiss and was encouraged.  

 

Her gaze dropped for a moment. “No, no, but –”  She took a deep breath.  “We should go inside. My little sister, Victoria, will wonder what happened to me.”

 

I accepted her change of subject, resolving to talk more seriously with her later, more privately perhaps.  “How is Little Frank?”  I asked, tucking Mattie’s hand between my arm and body.  We stepped up onto the wooden planks that served as a walk around the Hall.  Her steps were not light, but firm.  They suited her, as did the rich sable color of her gown.  

 

“It is so odd,” she said, lingering near the door once we were inside the noisy gaiety of the Hall, “speaking with you again.”

 

I grinned and bent a little to place my words nearer to her ear.  “It is different, but I confess to preferring hearing your voice, Mattie, than reading your writing.”

 

She scowled at me as she turned to look me in the eye.  “I will have you know, William, that your writing is no treat to decipher, either!”

 

I dared to put my arm around her, here in public while we waited for the music to pause so we could find her family.  The pleasure it gave me to do so – the happiness I felt because she allowed it – warmed me inside and out.  “You did not complain once, not in almost two years.”

 

She sniffed and made a show of moving as if to get away from me, when what she actually did was maneuver herself directly in front of me.  I did not complain.  Instead, I briefly rested my chin upon her head as she said, “No. For I did enjoy hearing from you, Rodeo Clown or not.”

 

I laughed and so did she – I could feel her move against my chest. “Well I certainly did appreciate hearing from you, too. So did my mother. She sent me a package for you.”

 

Mattie stiffened and turned slightly to look up at me. “Whatever for?”

 

“I believe for your birthday.”

 

“Oh. Well, well that was very kind of her.  Oh!”  She turned completely around as the music concluded.  “I forgot to ask. Where are you staying? You said you saw our barns?”

 

I felt my face redden a bit.  “I did go to your farm first, Mattie. But no one was there, so I rode River into town to see if I could get a room here. I thought to try to track you down tomorrow.” Disappointment was clear in her expression, so I smiled just a little and asked, “Might I head back tonight with you, instead?”

 

“Yes! I mean, I will have to ask my mother,” she amended, her own cheeks pinking up in the bright lights of the Hall.  

 

I immediately tried to find Mrs. Ross.  I saw her, walking with a man that had a vague familiarity to me, while holding the hand of a little girl – it must have been Victoria.  I did not see Mattie’s brother, but he was of an age that running about with his friends was more acceptable than staying tied to apron strings. I removed my hat and tried to smooth my recently-shorn hair with one hand.

 

Mattie watched me, eyes dancing.  Then, she grew concerned.  “I see that scar there, near your temple.”  She reached up without hesitation to trace the white line near my hair. “And you were shot, you said. Where?  Can you show me?”  Concern crinkled her brow as she added, “It must have been so frightening.  Your mother said the fever was severe.”

 

“It was and – and I really cannot show you that particular scar.  It would require a degree of disrobing that would hardly be appropriate here.”  I winked, being flirtatious, but I did not think she would object.  

 

Instead her brows flew up into her forehead before she turned abruptly. I saw the red color along her jaw as she did so, just as she murmured, “I see. No doubt you are correct.”  

 

“No doubt.”

 

Our private conversation was over as Mrs. Ross reached us at last. “Mattie! Why aren’t you dancing with that nice Mr. Colgate?” she inquired with an arching of her eyebrow. “And Ranger LaBoeuf!  What a surprise to see you. Mattie had given up, you know, on you ever coming.”

 

I stepped out from behind Mattie and took Mrs. Ross’s hand. “Evening, Mrs. Ross.  I came as soon as I honorably could.”  

 

Mattie cleared her throat.  “And this is Harris Austin, the hired hand I wrote you about.”

 

Austin’s eyes narrowed as I eyed him.  “Evening, Ranger,” he muttered.  Looking uncomfortable, he scratched a bit at his jawline.  “I have heard a good deal about you.”

 

I did not know what it was about this fellow that unsettled me. Perhaps it was the way he seemed to keep an eye on the door. Perhaps it was his restless movements.  Or perhaps it was the way his eyes would light on Mrs. Ross in what I deemed to be an inappropriate manner.  I hoped to have the chance to find out, but we were interrupted.

 

“Mattie?  Mattie Ross? And look there, it is LaBoeuf!”

 

Mattie’s eyes got round.  “Look! It is the Marshal!  Rooster Cogburn!”

  



	17. In Which the Three Ride Again

**Chapter Seventeen:  In Which The Three Ride Again**

 

“Well, hello there, Sister,” Cogburn said, strolling up in a slightly inebriated manner.  The patch over his missing eye was new leather, now, and his hair had more gray than previously.  Otherwise, he was clean-shaven and smiling.

 

A smiling Rooster Cogburn was rather an unsettling sight.

 

“Marshal Cogburn,” Mattie said, her hand extended to him.  “What a surprise to see you, here!”

 

The hired hand ducked his head and looked as if he would slink away, but Mattie began her introductions.  “Mother, this is U.S. Marshal Rooster Cogburn, of whom I told you.  Marshal, this is my mother, Mrs. Ross, and my little sister, Victoria, and this is –”

 

In between one word and the next, the hired man panicked and started to run through the crowd of laughing, chattering townsfolk.  “Mr. Austin!” Mrs. Ross cried out.

 

“Austin? Harris Austin?”  Cogburn asked, his sloppy demeanor transformed into one of sharp interest.  

 

“Why, yes, Marshal.”

 

His one eye flashed.  “Well, Ranger, what are you doing at a dance when a wanted man is ripe for capture? Come on!”

 

I stared after him as he followed Austin’s trail out the Hall’s wide doors, my jaw hanging open just as widely, I was sure. Mattie closed my mouth for me with the pressure of her fingers, seemingly heedless of her mother’s presence or the buzz of questions that was moving throughout the Hall.

 

“William.”

 

“What?” Did I follow? Was I safe enough to do so? I was taking a “leave of absence” from the Troop until my shooting was back on target.  I had not yet had the opportunity to talk to Mattie about everything, and part of me really did not want to chase another villain for days or weeks on end.  

 

Fingertips brushed my jaw. “William?” 

 

I blinked and directed my full attention to her.  “Sorry, Mattie.”

 

I could not decipher the emotion in her eyes.  “Our hired man was an outlaw?” 

 

Slowly, I shook my head. “It would appear so.”

 

“Well, then, I have a bone to pick with him. I will ride with you.  Mama? We’ll be back soon.”

 

“Wait just a minute there, Miss Ross,” I said, even as she boldly took my hand and started walking toward the door.  “Just hold on there, pardner.”

 

Her grin was infectious as she looked up at me. “It has been awhile since I have heard that term.  What is there to wait for? I am coming with you, of course.”

 

“Sweetheart,” I said, the endearment falling naturally from my tongue without forethought or any consideration of consequences, “I am not prepared to ride. I do not have supplies, nor do you.”  

 

She stopped in the darkness, away from the milling people who were still talking over the precipitous departure of a local man and the notorious Rooster Cogburn.  “What did you say?” she asked, her hand still in mine. I did not know if that was conscious on her part or not.

 

“I do not have supplies for a trail ride.”

 

“Before that.”

 

My skin reddened, but in the dark she would not know that.  “Mattie, I did not mean to take liberties,” I began.

 

She laughed a little but squeezed my hand in hers.  “Liberties? Like kissing me without my permission?  Like holding me in public?  Those kinds of liberties, Ranger?”

 

In spite of her words, I knew she was teasing me by the flash of her smile.  “Liberties like calling you sweetheart when I have not yet asked for permission to court you.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“And I cannot, just now.”

 

“Cannot what?” Stubborn girl, she refused to move when I tried to make my way to River.  “Cannot ask permission or cannot ride or cannot court, Mr. LaBoeuf?”

 

Chuckling at her tenacity, I pulled her along to River’s flank.  “Be careful, or I will be very interested in taking liberties again,” I warned her.  

 

She lifted her hand to my face and I almost expected her to slap me. I almost felt I deserved to be slapped, but for the tone in her voice when she said, “Take me with you.”

 

A quick look around showed me there were no curious eyes, so I held her hand to my cheek and wrapped my other arm around her again. She felt just perfect.  Not asking for  advance permission had worked well before, so I did so again, lowering my head and taking her lips with mine, in a most thorough manner.

 

When I had to drag air into my body, I let her go, held her chin in my fingers for a moment, and mounted River without saying a word. 

 

“Wait! Wait for me!”  She held fast to my trouser leg. “William!  Harris Austin seduced my mother,” she whispered harshly. “I did not say so before, but it is so. I must have my share of the hunt.”

 

I stared at her, slack-jawed yet again that evening.  Words poured forth in my head, but I stopped them at my mouth, for they were not fit to be heard by a lady.  At last, I could only extend my hand to her and wince as she swung herself up into the saddle in front of me, her knee hooked around the pommel as she sat side-saddle.

 

It was crowded, she was swathed in petticoats and skirts and whatever necessities a proper lady wore with a dancing gown, but still –

 

My Mattie was riding with me again, my arm around her, and I allowed myself to enjoy it. I knew it would not last long.

 

**=\=**

 

I was correct.  The ride – frustrating, tempting, enjoyable as it was – was only as long as it took for us to get on the road out of Dardanelle.  I had no plan other than to ask any on the road if they had seen Austin – whom Mattie could describe in great detail – and which way he had run.

 

“LaBoeuf!”  

 

“Cogburn,” I called, riding up to stop next to him. Mattie directed an expectant look at me and I sighed a little.  “Mattie is coming with us. She has a claim and she insists.”

 

“This is a story I want to hear, but first, we must ride. I have food with me, but you do not, I would guess. I always,” he added, his spine straightening, “go prepared.”

 

“We are going back to my farm for provisions, Marshal,” Mattie stated.  

 

Cogburn seemed to take us in for the first time, pushing his hat back on his head.  “So,” he said with a vague gesture that encompassed Mattie and myself, “are you two properly betrothed now?”

 

“Marshal!  That is impertinent!” Mattie snapped.  

 

“I take that to mean you are not,” Cogburn decided with a laugh.  “Watch out there, LaBoeuf, that she does not haul you in front of a preacher!”

 

“I will not be hauling him anywhere.  In fact, he will be hauling me.  We are riding with you, Marshal.  If you know where Austin is heading, we can come with you.”

 

“First,” I said, making sure this whole venture did not take off without my input, “we need food and bedding.”

 

“Right. Thank you.  First to the farm.”

 

And so we rode, the three of us, into the night.  Cogburn had apparently grown some sense since we met last, for he did not say one untoward thing the entire ride.


	18. In Which Someone is Shot. Again.

**Chapter Eighteen:  In Which Someone is Shot. Again.**

 

Mattie left a note for her mother, telling her the basics:  Harris Austin, the man they hired to be a help on the farm, was wanted for murder and that she, Mattie, was riding out with me and Cogburn to bring him to justice.  I felt compelled by honor to add:

 

**_Mrs. Ross, please know that your daughter is safe with me and my intentions are strictly honorable. Your servant, Wm. LaBoeuf, Texas Ranger_ **

 

I did not share that with Mattie, having scribed my addition after she had left the house to lead out her mount from the barn.  It was dark and getting later all the time. Cogburn himself was itching to be gone – but he had still taken the time to investigate Austin’s room in the farmhouse and to confiscate the fugitive’s whiskey.

 

I was unsurprised.

 

The bundle from my own mother I tucked away in a corner of the front room of the house. If Mrs. Ross had the presence of mind to be curious about it, she could indeed open it, but I did not anticipate that happening.  I just hoped nothing inauspicious would occur before the gifts could be distributed.  With that hope, I retrieved River from the watering trough and waited for Mattie to present herself.

 

“What did you name this horse?” I asked Mattie as we set our horses to walking.  Cogburn rode ahead of us, his newly acquired whiskey in one hand.  

 

Mattie had changed into a man’s trousers once again and I wondered whose they were. Perhaps she had borrowed a pair from her brother or had kept her father’s trousers for work around the farm.  My own mother had found it easier to do heavy work in men’s trousers, so I was not alarmed to see Mattie in them again.  But Mattie was not my mother and I moved my attention to her horse.

 

“He was my father’s,” Mattie told me.  “I did not name him.  He is called Thistle, because his temper is prickly.”

 

“A good match for you, then,” Cogburn called back to us, letting us know he was entirely aware of us.  “If you two are quite finished conversing, let us hurry.  Austin was on foot when he left the town, but I do not believe he would remain thus.”

 

We started at a brisk canter, Cogburn setting the pace. I kept careful watch on Mattie, but she handled her horse one-handed quite capably.  Riding astride, her balance was sufficient and I was relieved on that score.  Relieved and very proud of her.  She was a remarkable young woman.  

 

She was also headstrong and foolish in some respects.  “Look!  I see a man walking! There, his silhouette, can you see?”

 

“Your sight is sharper than mine, Sister,” the Marshal drawled.  “LaBoeuf?”

 

“I trust her to have clear sight,” I said, cautious, but believing Mattie saw truly.  “Shall we overtake him?”

 

“We are barely off the farm!” Mattie said, her voice eager.  “Come on!”  And she broke away from us, without even her father’s revolver to defend herself.

 

I swore, as did the Marshal, and we lit off after her.  “Mattie!”

 

Thistle must have been bred from racing stock – granted my Appaloosa was older than she used to be – because Mattie overtook the lone walker up ahead.  I expected to hear her demand that he halt to be taken into custody.  It would have been like her.

 

Instead, I saw a most incredible and frightening thing. The man leapt at Mattie, pulling her off the horse. “Mattie Ross! Well how nice of you to join me!” he said, his voice carrying over the flat ground.  “Not as pretty as your ma, but you will do.”

 

“No!” 

 

Fear is a funny thing.  It affects people in different ways.  I have seen it paralyze a man as often as I have seen it spur him on.  That night, seeing my Mattie being manhandled by that worthless man in town made me mad. But seeing Austin – a man she had actually had in her house and around her table – grab her and make like he was going to ride off with her?  I felt as if I were possessed by a madman.  My heart just about burst from my chest and I kicked River with my spurs, making her squeal in protest.  My limbs pulsed with the need to get Mattie safe and to wipe Harris Austin from the face of the earth.  

 

He was about ready, it seemed, to hoist himself and Mattie both onto her horse as I reached them.  “Put her down, Austin!”

 

“Make me!” he retorted, one arm around Mattie, pinning her good arm to her side. I caught the glint of steel in that hand. In the other, he held a gun.  Pointed at her throat.  “Or you could just let us ride along, now.  I’ll leave her someplace safe, Ranger. I will.  All nice and tied up tight, of course, and gagged because I will not listen to her incessant quoting if Bible verses, but she will be just fine. If you let us go. Now.”

 

The blood was pounding so hard and fast in my ears, I was not entirely sure I heard his words right.  I shook my head, just then catching the sound of Cogburn’s horse coming up behind me. 

 

If I had any hope of rescuing Mattie, it had to be now.  I moved my hand to my Colt revolver while Austin’s attention was split between me and Cogburn.  I kept one eye on Austin’s hand at Mattie’s side.  If he cut her on her good arm...

 

Mattie took a deep, loud breath.  Her eyes were wide, her lips moving silently. I imagined she was praying or reciting some of those incessant verses Austin had spoken of just a moment before.  I couldn’t read her lips in the darkness, but I wanted to. I wanted something in my memory, just in case this all went straight to Hell.

 

With a click, it did.  Cogburn fired his rifle.  I knew its sound well.  Denial screamed out my throat as I was sure that Cogburn’s shot would mean Mattie would likewise be harmed.  In the wake of my shout, I heart Mattie shout as well as she did something that made Austin roar in rage and push her to the ground.  

 

I took this to be a positive, since the gun was no longer at her throat – it fired at Cogburn instead.  

 

With a defiant hiss, U.S. Marshal fell from his horse to the ground, landing without a lot of noise.  His horse backed off a little, and Mattie moved more quickly than I would have given her credit for, half-rolling to the Marshal’s side, his name pouring from her lips. She grabbed his gun.

 

“Mattie, no!” I shouted, leaping from River’s back to stand in front of her.  

 

For a moment, all was still.  Harris Austin, murderer and fugitive, stared at us, as if trying to decide what to do.  With a foul word, he spun around and mounted Mattie’s horse, kicking it viciously.  

 

“No!” Mattie and I shouted in the same moment.  And, also in the same moment, we took aim and fired.

 

Mattie fell backward, half-landing on Cogburn.  “He is dead, William!”  she cried.

 

I knelt at her side, and felt for his pulse with one hand, while wrapping her up against my side with my free arm.  I could only pray that Austin had been injured enough not to try running while I saw to Rooster Cogburn.


	19. In Which the Ranger Makes a Choice

 

  
**Chapter Nineteen:  In Which the Ranger Makes a Choice**   


 

“He is not dead, sweetheart,” I murmured into Mattie’s hair, breathing deeply, reassuring myself that she was fine and whole.  “But, he will need a doctor.”  With a bit of reluctance in spite of the circumstances, I released her.  “Look, there is a bullet wound. Let us turn him over to see if there is an exit wound, too.”  We did so, seeing that there was indeed a wide, bleeding hole in Cogburn’s back.

 

“All right.  I’ll make a bandage and we will roll him over on it. Then we will make another one and you will need to press it down while I make very sure Austin will not bother us further.”

 

“All right,” she said.  “All right. And you take the Marshal’s gun too.  Just in case.”  Her voice grew more firm with every word and I knew then that my Mattie would be fine. 

 

“Thank you,” I said, reaching down to pick up the rifle.  I checked the load and went to his saddle to find more ammunition. I then did the same with my own weapon.  

 

While I did so, Thistle made my worry a bit less by making his way back to Mattie.  This meant that Austin could not ride away easily, even if he were merely grazed and not gravely wounded.  The horse made those distinctive equine sounds of comfort as he neared Mattie, who was kneeling yet on the ground, her one arm leaning on Cogburn’s gunshot wound.  

 

I loved that woman. I absolutely did.  Seeing her in Austin’s power just about undid me. I realized that I could not bear it if something had happened to her.  If he had hurt her or, God forbid, killed her – I don’t know how I would have made it through another day.  I wondered if she had been through anything even remotely similar while I had been injured and unable to write to her.  A strange feeling moved through me, under my skin, shaking my insides a bit as I reached Harris Austin’s prone body, sprawled on the ground. 

 

“Austin,” I said, kicking his gun away while training my revolver on him. The rifle, I held in my other hand.  “Hey.”  I kicked him with the toe of my boot once. Then again.  There was no response.  

 

Making sure he was entirely disarmed, I prodded him with the rifle before setting it aside and kneeling beside him.  As I had with Cogburn, I checked Austin for a pulse at his throat.  

 

There was none.

 

I pressed my palm on his chest, to see if it rose and fell, but it did not.  Finally, I bent my head to listen for a heartbeat. I smelled whiskey, sweat, dirt and leather but I heard absolutely nothing.

 

“He’s dead!” I called to Mattie.

 

“Who shot him?” 

 

“How do I know? It is dark, woman!”  I checked, but saw only one bullet hole in his chest.  An exit wound. Not needing to be gentle, I prodded up and down but found only the one wound. Meaning that one of us missed.  

 

I could not even say which of us, Mattie or myself, had shot Harris Austin down.

 

  
**=\=**   


 

Thistle was none too happy about transporting a wounded man or a dead man, either, so he got the honor of bearing Mattie during the short ride back to the Ross farm. Cogburn’s horse bore the Marshal and myself and I did feel sorry for the animal.  

 

“I can do it,” Mattie had protested. “Then his poor horse will not be so burdened.”

 

“It is a matter of balance,” I told her.  “I know, Mattie Ross, that you can do just about anything, but Cogburn is a heavy man and keeping him on his horse might require more arm than you can provide.”

 

Indignation sparked in her expression as she went with me toe to toe.  “I do not appreciate that, William LaBoeuf.”  I saw the dark angling of her brow as she frowned up at me.  “I have been helping run a farm for years –”

 

“I know you have. I know you have done a tremendous job.  But this is not about anything other than, well, your weight and needing two arms to hold him.  And much as you can do to work around what happened to you, Mattie, you do not have two arms.”  It pained me to be direct in this manner. It hurt me to make her feel in any way less, but this was a fact of life and I would not pretend it was not.  “Now, I find you to be a wonderful woman. Smart and capable and a good pard, all the way around.  If Cogburn were more your size, there would be no problem. But he is not.”

 

Her temper lessened; I could see in the way her shoulders relaxed as I spoke again.  “We have to hurry.  He needs to be stitched up. Can you do it?”

 

“Me?”  

 

“You.”

 

She turned to look at Cogburn, who was now moaning a little and starting to fidget. We had to hurry.  “I can, but I – I will need your help.”

 

I held her close against me for just another moment before helping her mount her horse and sending her back to the house. I followed with Cogburn.

 

River managed to bring Harris Austin in just fine.  She had carried a corpse before.

 

Once at the main house, Mattie hurried inside to prepare the lower guest bedroom for our patient.  I relieved the horses of their assorted burdens of travel gear and provender as well as one dead body.  Mattie brought out a rolled-up rug so that we could together drag the Marshal to where she could work on him.  It was quite brilliant of her and so I told her.

 

Her smile, caught in the light of the bedside lantern, was brilliant.  

 

=\=

 

Mrs. Ross and the children arrived just as Mattie and I had finished using embroidery thread to close the wound in Cogburn’s back. It was not pretty.  He awakened part of the way through and it took all my strength to hold him on the bed.

 

We found more whiskey and got him dead drunk.  Mrs. Ross and I undressed him and she took the liberty of bathing him – as a widow, she assured me nothing would be a surprise to her.

 

I was too tired to argue and met with Mattie on the bench that was on the far side of the porch after I had taken a slight detour to my own saddle bag.  She had brought a lantern out, though a half-moon was shining low in the sky by then. I half-collapsed to the bench, tossing my arm out along the back behind her.  She sat stiffly for a bit, her back ramrod-straight.  Her hair, though, had fallen from its upswept style of earlier in the evening. She was still in the man’s trousers and shirt.  

 

I blew out a breath, not knowing quite what to say as her mother bustled inside with Cogburn.  I decided that flowery would never do for Mattie Ross, so I decided that my practical girl would want practical notions.

 

I bent over and took off one boot, then the other, and proceeded to remove the spurs from them.

 

“What are you doing, William?” she asked, half-turning on the bench to watch more fully.  “Are you feeling all right or is this just a normal night-time routine for you?”

 

I smiled sideways at her.  “I am feeling just fine, Miss Ross.”  I hefted the spurs in one hand, watching them catch the moonlight.  “How are you?”  Shifting my spurs to the other hand, I reached for hers.  

 

She took it, and I twined our fingers together.  “I am doing just fine as well, Mr. LaBoeuf,” she said, a tired smile in her voice.  “So why did you take off your spurs?”

 

“Actually, I wanted to give them to you.”  That was not all I wished to give her, but it was a start.  

 

She adjusted her position on the bench, but did not let go of my hand. I smiled a little, watching her face as she thought.  “To me?  Your spurs?”  I nodded and she asked, “Why?”

 

“Mattie, I received these spurs with pride when I first became a Ranger.”  She nodded; it was something we had talked about, once upon a time. “Being a Ranger has always been the most important part of who I was.”  

 

“You are speaking in the past tense,” she noted, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant.  “Is something wrong, William?”

I laughed a little and maneuvered to bring myself on my knees in front of her on the porch.  I put the spurs in her lap.  “Not a thing, Mattie. But now, there is something more important to me, and as I said, you have more than earned these spurs.  What I want to know,” I said, hurrying because I was more nervous than I had been in many a year, “is will you take them?  And... Will you take the man that gave them to you?”

 

A breath choked its way from her throat as she stared at me.  Her mouth worked, but no further sounds came out. I reached up to cup her face in my hands.  “Mattie? Sweetheart?”

 

“William...?  You – you want – you want...”  

 

I could have teased her about her uncharacteristic lack of words, but I did not.  Instead, I spelled it out in the most simple and powerful words.  “I love you, Mattie Ross.  Will you marry me?”  

 

She scooped up the spurs in her hand and leaned forward to kiss me.  We were unbalanced and I fell backward, dragging her on top of me.

 

We remained that way for quite some time before Mrs. Ross found us.  

 

“Spurs, Mr. LaBoeuf?” Mrs. Ross inquired softly as Mattie held them next to her breast when we returned indoors.

 

I nodded and Mattie grinned.  “They are better than an engagement ring, Mama.”

 

“I do have one of those, too, when you are ready,” I told her, pulling the ring I had for her out of my pocket.

 

“I am,” she said, a smile shining all over her face.  She somehow kept my spurs in her hand while I slipped the ring on her finger.  I did not know how she did that.

  
  



	20. In Which the Farmer and His Wife Life Happily

**Chapter Twenty:  In Which the Farmer and His Wife Live Happily**

 

“Will?  Will you braid my hair?”

 

I grin at my wife as she tosses me her hairbrush. After all these years, this is still the first part of our going-to-bed ritual.  Her hair reaches down past her hips and I do so enjoy running my fingers through it at the end of every day.  “Of course,” I answer, unwinding it from the coiled braids she wears atop her head for daytime.  

 

The year is 1900 and my Mattie and I run what used to be the Ross Farm. It is now the LaBoeuf Farm and we are doing quite well.  Mattie’s robe over her nightgown has French lace inserts – I had it made for her last Christmas.  She pulls it on after I tie off her braid with white ribbon and we take a lantern to check on the children.  

Our eldest and youngest share a bedroom.  They are our sons, Billy and Little Frank.  Little Frank used to be the name Mattie called her younger brother, but these days, Frank Ross lives in Pennsylvania, having met and married a young lady whose family signed over part of their farm to her upon her marriage.  

 

Not a bad arrangement at all.

 

Billy is twelve and he sleeps there, nearest the window to better protect his little brother, he says.  I say he is just like his old man and Mattie just shakes her head and smiles. Billy looks just like her. Little Frank looks like me, with wild hair and a laugh that shakes the roof.  He is four years old.

 

They are both sleeping, now, so we move on.

 

“How’s Carrie’s burn?” I ask Mattie in a hushed whisper as we carefully open the door to our daughter’s room.  Caroline Victoria LaBoeuf has my sister’s golden hair and Mattie’s serious demeanor.  My mother dotes on her.  Carrie – who is nine – burned her hand pulling the biscuits out of the oven a mite too early that morning.

 

“Fine.  Mama said the flour would help and it did.”

 

I shake my head. Mrs. Ross had, while nursing Reuben Cogburn, discovered a latent nursing streak in her and she read everything she could on how to make people feel better.

 

Mattie’s hand in mine, we go to the porch, which I have screened in.  Reuben Cogburn had married Mrs. Ross and we see their home not too far from ours.  Cogburn’s gift of stretching the truth has found an audience at last, and he makes real money writing down his stories – real and imagined – and selling them.  

 

“Strange, what people pay for lies,” Mattie said upon first reading his first story collection.  

 

I had to agree.  Still, he is a fine storyteller.

 

Just now, she and I settle in on the swing, rocking back and forth as the quiet night sounds filter through the air around us.  “This is a fine night,” she says.

 

“It is,” I answer, pulling her onto my lap.  She wraps her arm around me and presses her lips to mine.  Our kiss is slow, but the fires are stoked between us and I am fairly certain her robe will find its way to the bedroom floor before we sleep tonight.

 

As always, as we make our way back to our bed, she taps the ornament that is hung next to our doorframe.  A slight jingling sound is created and it makes her smile a little, as always.  

 

“You sure do like those spurs, Mrs. LaBoeuf,” I say, as I do most nights.

 

“I love the man that gave them to me,” she responds, as _she_ does most nights.

 

“You do, do you?”

 

“I do.”

 

It is a fine life.  

 

**_The End_ **


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